Franz Kafka and My Fear of Failure
I am scared that my life will end mid-sentence.
We never saw The Castle
They say a man never steps foot in the same river twice, but a man most definitely lies awake in the same bed over and over. For it is the same bed that awaits him, and still the same man that sinks into it. And for some reason, the many beds that have stored me over my life have never seen me get rest. They have seen many of my dreams, some that I cannot even remember. And some that I left behind with them. Sometimes I sleep without getting under the sheets, as if I don’t deserve the full cover and warmth. I will probably do that again tonight.
I remember where I was when I finished reading the famously unfinished The Castle, by Franz Kafka, lying in a bed very far away from the dark room I sit in now. I almost always remember where and when I finished my books, but rarely when or why I started them. In his final novel, Kafka ends the story in the middle of a sentence. The sentence, not by his choice, is left endless. Throughout the book, the protagonist, K., endures a confusing and ultimately fruitless journey in pursuit of his goal: reaching the elusive castle. The castle is the ultimate source of meaning for both K. and the audience, a resolution that I found myself clawing through the pages to see, just like K. has to in the village, before meeting that final sentence.
It was always in sight, on the cover for me and on the horizon of the town for K. The protagonist failed to find his meaning. After all of the absurdity, all of the chaos, all of the people he met. After all of the hours, all of the words read, all of the time spent holding the book. The castle was within our reach, palpable the whole time.
We never reached it.
And Kafka changed the novel’s first-person perspective, opting for K. as the name of the character instead.
And I lay in that bed, far away from this one tonight, wondering if Kafka ever found the castle.
We dream too big
I go many nights sleeping too much, then many nights dreaming too much. Tonight, I cannot sleep. But instead of dreaming like I used to, I am dreading. At some point in time, I think we really lose that part of ourselves. Maybe we sleep it all away. My estimate is around the fifteen-year mark.
There is so much to do in this life. There is so much that I want to know, I want to know it all. But to know it all, that means learning it all. To learn it all, that means full focus on studying and practice. But to have full focus on studies, that means no distractions. No distractions means no media, or entertainment, or pastimes. But there are so many books to read, so many movies to watch, so much art to tilt your head at… But someone has to create art, too, right? These things are made by people, people who spent that time making and not being distracted. Is that not what I want to do? But how will I know what to make if I know nothing at all? And I can’t do that without money, which means I need to work. That means a career. But what if that career takes me away from studying? Or making? Or watching, or listening, or writing, or drawing, or …
And time is running out.
And I am still awake at 1:19 AM with nothing to show for my countless nights spent this way.
People out there are better than I because they spent that time focused. They hyper-focused on one thing, and that one thing made them who they are, and they got good at it. And I feel distracted.
I want to be something. I want to make something. But now I have spent too much time thinking about art and feelings that I have forgotten all other things. And sleep. So it becomes easier to dream.
While K. moved towards the castle, I lay still. And I can’t even fall asleep.
“Illusions are more common than changes in fortune”
― Franz Kafka, The Castle
We Are Unfinished
There is no other choice but to continue being unfinished, to be left endless. I don’t regret reading The Castle, despite it not resolving. I like it more because of that fact, and it defines this period of my life better than any other finished work I have read. I researched discussions and analyses of the book after my time with it, but all I found was “transcendence” and “bureaucracy.” No one seemed to talk about the grit of pursuing something in vain. The absurd struggle of putting all of your being, your entire identity, into a purpose that you know will always be outside of your reach.
Kafka saved us from reaching the castle, because there is nothing after K. reaches it.
I worry that I will not achieve all of the things that I have trusted myself to see to completion. I am always distractedly pursuing the impossible, even when I know how far from reach it is. I think the chase gives me worth. It gives me a reason to keep going. Because I know that there is nothing after finding the castle, and my story will end mid
Fishing in a Bathtub
On connaît l'histoire du fou qui pêchait dans une baignoire; un médecin qui avait ses idées sur les traitements psychiatriques lui demandait : «si ça mordait» et se vit répondre avec rigueur: «Mais non, imbécile, puisque c'est une baignoire.» Cette histoire est du genre baroque. Mais on y saisit de façon sensible combien l'effet absurde est lié à un excès de logique. Le monde de Kafka est à la vérité un univers indicible où l'homme se donne le luxe torturant de pêcher dans une baignoire, sachant qu'il n'en sortira rien.
— Albert Camus on Franz Kafka