A Kafka Fragment from His Lost Writings

As I was looking for a book in the K section of our library I discovered a small volume titled "The Lost Writings of Franz Kafka." The book is a collection of previously unpublished works by the famous Czech author. I was quite familiar with Kafka's existential and surreal stories such as The Metamorphosis and The Trial. I was not aware of the quantity of unpublished morsels he'd left behind when he passed. Kafka's friend and executor, Max Brod, ignored Kafka’s instructions to destroy them after his death, and published many of them posthumously.

These "lost writings" include fragments, letters, and incomplete narratives that delve into Kafka’s characteristic themes of alienation, bureaucratic absurdity, and human frailty. As I read this collection it brought to mind many of my own fragments, which I never shared because they seemed incomplete. 

According to the Afterword by Reiner Stach, Kafka submitted only 350 pages of his written output for publication, but his fragments now fill more than twelve volumes.

The pieces in this book vary in length from a few lines to a few pages. Despite their brevity they frequently pack a punch. Here's one that I especially liked. Notice how each sentence contributes new information that expands the meaning of the whole. It's like watching a portrait artist produce a quit sketch at an art fair, line by line. I believe it would make a great prompt for a writing class to see where the students go as they expound on it. Then again, the searing moment in time that it captures really needs no accompaniment. 

There are many waiting here. A vast crowd disappearing into the darkness. What do they want? There are obviously certain demands they want to make. I will listen to them and then make my reply. I will not go out onto the balcony; I couldn't even if I wanted to. In winter the balcony door is kept locked, and the key is somewhere else. Nor will I step up to the window. I will see no one, I will not have my head turned by a spectacle, my desk is the place for me, with my head in my hands, that is my posture. 

It captures something poigant and tangible, doesn't it?