Even more nightmarish than I remembered. Just the most brutal perversion of the quest narrative. People — including the protagonist — are unknowable shells: "this not very savoury assistant [...] this puppet which sometimes gave one the impression of not being properly alive." And they get treated as such — I'd forgotten about the "interrogations" which form the background to K's wanderings through the back rooms of the inn. At the center of it all, voracious like a black hole, a kind of generator of negativity, is that unassuageable self-persecuting sense of inadequacy, of feeling oneself

someone who rode roughshod over everything, both over the law and over the most ordinary human consideration, with this callous indifference and sleepiness, someone who simply did not care that he was making the distribution of the files almost impossible and damaging the reputation of the house and who brought about something that had never happened before, that the gentlemen, driven to desperation, had begun to defend themselves, and, after an overcoming of their own feelings unimaginable for ordinary people, had reached for the bell and called for help to expel this person on whom nothing else could make any impression!

( )

{3.5 stars}

Libby delivered this audiobook unexpectantly. I like it for it’s quirkiness but feels like a novel of 2 parts, the other part looks at the mechanics of how people and things work including romantic relationships. So, a mixed reaction for a first attempt, but I’m intrigued enough to try and read this one again. ( )

Definitive Edition with an Homage by Thomas Mann

Best for english improvement.

I’ve taken so long to finish 'The Castle' because I learned the hard way not to read it just before bed - normally prime book time. After fifty pages just before falling asleep, I had a vivid dream in which I was head of a spy cell. A contact from the central spy agency told me there was a mole in my cell and I needed to find them. I told my trusted deputy this information, but they were the mole and denounced me. So when I went to the central spy office, which seemed to be within the British Museum, I was immediately accused and imprisoned. The spy agency wasn’t merciful, so I knew that I’d be killed, then have my teeth pulled out, then my corpse displayed to the rest of my cell as a warning against betrayal. At this point my ability to control dreams seemed to kick in somewhat, as I detached myself from the imprisoned self. She became a duplicate, duly shot then mutilated and displayed. My point of view was then with another identical self, who’d somehow witnessed her own death and was trying desperately to escape the labyrinthine spy agency. After climbing out of a window, I got lost in a maze of connected animal cages in the grounds, before reaching a wire fence and climbing over. I was running across an open heath, expecting to be shot at any moment, when I woke up.

I blame Kafka for this dream, perhaps a little unfairly. 'The Castle' contains only mild violence and no posthumous tooth extraction. Nonetheless, it is a novel of paranoia, distrust, and misunderstanding. We meet K., the narrator, as he arrives in an unnamed village in the capacity of Land Surveyor. Confusion ensues then the ending is entirely arbitrary, something emphasised by the edition I read. This included a selection of other material, such as a continuation beyond the ending, an alternate opening, and multiple deleted passages. Frankly, these just disconcerted and baffled me. The novel is challenging enough to follow as it is, not because a lot happens but because so much is implicit, mysterious, and/or contradictory. The Castle remains entirely enigmatic throughout; no-one from there is seen nor does the narrative venture there. Nonetheless, it is discussed near-constantly. I was expecting more explicit exploration of hierarchy, however Kafka is a more subtle and obscure writer than that. K. has a series of detailed conversations, mostly with women, that each explain facets of village life in the Castle’s shadow. He doesn’t listen very carefully and blunders about, achieving nothing.

To be honest, I did not really enjoy this novel and found it an effort to read. I think my subconscious is too delicate for Kafka at the moment. A few years ago I read his diaries over Christmas without traumatic dreams, though, so will postpone [b:The Trial|17690|The Trial|Franz Kafka|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1320399438s/17690.jpg|2965832] until I’m in a better frame of mind. That said, the detail and insight of the narrative are very accomplished and I appreciated the range of female perspectives. Olga’s eloquence was especially notable. K. himself is an interestingly ambivalent figure. At times I found his clumsy refusal to understand behavioural expectations in the village maddening, at others he seemed to be taking a noble stand against oppressive political structures. His attempts to be proactive and reactive both backfire, seemingly trapping him in a cycle of bewilderment and inadequate sleep. Despite his title ostensibly conferring status, he is estranged from the establishment and wanders, rootless. Sounds bit like doing a PhD, frankly. ( )