Diaries of Franz Kafka (Schocken Classics Series)

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Diaries of Franz Kafka (Schocken Classics Series)

by Franz Kafka

4.16 · rating details · 589 ratings · 32 reviews

These diaries cover the years 1910 to 1923, the year before Kafka’s death at the age of forty. They provide a penetrating look into life in Prague and into Kafka’s accounts of his dreams, his feelings for the father he worshipped and the woman he could not bring himself to marry, his sense of guilt, and his feelings of being an outcast. They offer an account of a life of a

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Paperback, 528 pages

Published January 21st 2009 by Schocken (first published January 1st 1983)

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Jul 11, 2009

Buck rated it

Shelves: life-writing

Some people have a talent for suffering, as others have a knack for Sudoku or needlepoint. Give them every advantage in life – brains, looks, money – and still they’ll manage to fall ass-backwards into hopeless misery. I’m not talking about clinical depression, which, debilitating as it is, doesn’t require any particular skill. I’m talking about a philosophical aptitude for despair. Maybe it’s only a snobbish distinction; maybe despair is just depression’s hip, uptown cousin, who went to bet...moreSome people have a talent for suffering, as others have a knack for Sudoku or needlepoint. Give them every advantage in life – brains, looks, money – and still they’ll manage to fall ass-backwards into hopeless misery. I’m not talking about clinical depression, which, debilitating as it is, doesn’t require any particular skill. I’m talking about a philosophical aptitude for despair. Maybe it’s only a snobbish distinction; maybe despair is just depression’s hip, uptown cousin, who went to better schools and read more Kierkegaard. But if there is a real difference between them, it probably comes down to this: that depression is sterile and unproductive, while despair can be, in certain rare cases, wonderfully creative.

As evidence, I offer the works of Franz Kafka. If suffering takes talent, Kafka was some kind of virtuoso – the Yo-Yo Ma of angst. Every page of his diary testifies to an abiding spiritual affliction, an incurable Weltschmerz. His modern biographers tend to resist this view of Kafka, reminding us that he was, after all, a successful lawyer, a charming habitué of literary salons, even something of a ladies’ man. And no doubt he was. But all that was on the outside. Inside, it was one vast sea of anguish. He could hold it in, he could stand and watch it from the shore, but it was always there, sloshing around.

I call it a sea, but Kafka himself found other, more ingenious metaphors to describe his condition:

Who will save me? And the turmoil in me, deep down, scarcely visible; I am like a living lattice-work, a lattice that is solidly planted and would like to tumble down.

If there is a transmigration of souls then I am not yet on the bottom rung. My life is a hesitation before birth.

I don’t believe people exist whose inner plight resembles mine; still, it is possible for me to imagine such people – but that the secret raven flaps about their heads as it does about mine, even to imagine that is impossible.

In that last passage, he almost sounds like a hypersensitive teenager complaining that nobody understands his unique pain. Almost – but then you come to the ‘secret raven’, a tiny stroke of genius that could only have occurred to Kafka.

I’m going to propose an eccentric theory. Everybody psychologizes about Kafka, so here’s my kick at the can. Is it possible that Kafka’s prodigious gift for metaphor actually contributed to his problem? What I mean is, perhaps he cultivated his despair precisely in order to have a subject worthy of his gift. A nice Jewish kid with girl trouble and a vague hate-on for his dad – not very promising material, he might have decided; time to kick it up a notch. I’m not questioning his sincerity. I don’t doubt that he suffered. But I am suggesting that his compulsive search for new means of describing his inner life became an end in itself. His metaphors explained his despair but, in some sense, his despair also explained and justified his metaphors.

Let me try an analogy of my own. Say you inherit this beautiful Louis Quinze escritoire from your gay, furniture-dealer uncle. Great, but now you’ve got a problem, because that big hunk of marqueterie is going to look ridiculous amid your IKEA end tables and Pier 1 bric-a-brac. Since you can’t bear to part with such a lovely objet d’art, you realize you’ll have to design a setting rich and tasteful enough to accommodate it. You might even decide you need to move into a tonier building, class up your wardrobe and get some new friends while you’re at it. And all because of some French antique.

That, roughly, is the sort of effect Kafka’s equivocal gift might have had on his life, turning ordinary, middle-class Jewish angst into a lush and extravagant despair.

But, as I said, it’s just a theory. I’m not married to it or anything.
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Oct 26, 2011

K.D. rated it

Recommended to K.D. by: 501 Must Read Books (Memoirs)

Shelves: classic, memoirs, 501

Behold, the hardest-to-put-down diary that I’ve ever read!

Franz Kafka (1883-1924) was a Jew born to German-speaking parents in Prague. His works are so brilliant that they seem to be eternal and the term kafkaesque has been coined to describe the something that is characteristic of him or his works. Who are these authors whose names had to be immortalized in the English dictionary?

ballardian – adj. resembling or suggestive of the conditions described in Ballard’s novels and stori

...moreBehold, the hardest-to-put-down diary that I’ve ever read!

Franz Kafka (1883-1924) was a Jew born to German-speaking parents in Prague. His works are so brilliant that they seem to be eternal and the term kafkaesque has been coined to describe the something that is characteristic of him or his works. Who are these authors whose names had to be immortalized in the English dictionary?

ballardian – adj. resembling or suggestive of the conditions described in Ballard’s novels and stories, esp. dystopian modernity, bleak man-made landscapes, and the psychological effects of technological, social or environmental developments.
borgesian – adj. reminiscent of elements of Borges’ stories and essays, esp. labyrinths, mirrors, reality, identity, nature of time and infinity.
dickesian – adj. resembling or suggestive of conditions described in Dicken’s novels, or his works especially squalid and poverty-stricken or characterized by jollity and conviviality
hemingwayesque – adj. of, pertaining to, or characteristic of Ernest Hemingway or his works
jamesian – adj. of, pertaining to, or characteristics of novelist Henry James or his writings.
joycean – adj. of, pertaining to, or characteristics of novelist James Joyce or his writings.
Kafkaesque – adj. marked by a senseless, disorienting, often menacing complexity.
orwellian - adj. pertaining to, characteristic of, or resembling the literary work of George Orwell or the totalitarian future described in his antiutopian novel 1984 (1949).
sadism – noun. The condition in which sexual gratification depends on causing pain or degradation to others.

The authors similarity? Their works are all classics that definitely will outlive all of us. I oftentimes see pychonesque but my online search said that there is no such a word. There are also no terms from female authors like austenian, woolfesque, brontesque, bowenian, murdochian, etc. and definitely no rowlingesque or collinsesque. Maybe their works neither make distinctive and specific meaning that could not be found in any of the existing words nor merit inclusion in the same league as those of above authors.

The book is divided into two parts: his diaries from 1910-1923 and his travel diary. The first part is sad and gloomy. He died of starvation in 1924 because food could not be administered into his mouth due to tuberculosis (consumption). The administration of dextrose via intravenous was not yet discovered at that time. With this information given in the blurb, I could not help but pay more attention to the progress of the disease. He was a very sickly frail young man and he died single at the age of 40. It was like watching the movie Titanic when you know that the ship will eventually sink and all most of those characters on the screen would eventually die. However, as they say, diaries are written for personal consumption and the diarists have no intention of sharing them to public. This one seems not to be an exception since it mostly covers the negative, angry and personal, i.e., sex and love lives, (although the too-personal were removed by his friend Max) thoughts of Kafka. So, Kafka’s critics say that these diaries do not contain the “whole” Kafka as a person. His happy and jovial side, found in his novels like The Trial cannot be found here.

And for me, that fact makes this book more interesting. It is like knowing the negative side of a brilliant mind that defined not only his generation but all of the future generations. After few more generations, people will no longer be reading Harry Potter and J. K. Rowling will be left into oblivion but, primarily because of the word coined from his name, people will still be reading The Trial and still be interested to know Franz Kafka and there is no better way to learn the “complete” him but by reading his Diaries.
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May 29, 2011

Eman rated it

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لعلها المدة الأطول التي اقرأ فيها كتاباً على دفعات ليس لحجمه و إنما لأجوائه المرهقة ..كنت اتركه لأيام لأن شيئاً ما استفزني و حرّك ما أسن من هدوء زائف نلف به أرواحنا القلقة..وأحياناً كنت اقرأ واشتم هذا الشخص الذي يختصر حياته بينه وبين ذاته واستطاع أن يعريها تماماً كما هي بكل روعتها و حقارتها.. هذا الكتاب فيه كمية هائلة من "التشريح" الصادق و المؤلم للنفس البشرية بكل تجلياتها.
طبيعة كونه تدوين لـ"يوميات" صنعت الكثير من النقلات المفاجئة و التداخل والانقطاع أحياناً مما يرب...moreلعلها المدة الأطول التي اقرأ فيها كتاباً على دفعات ليس لحجمه و إنما لأجوائه المرهقة ..كنت اتركه لأيام لأن شيئاً ما استفزني و حرّك ما أسن من هدوء زائف نلف به أرواحنا القلقة..وأحياناً كنت اقرأ واشتم هذا الشخص الذي يختصر حياته بينه وبين ذاته واستطاع أن يعريها تماماً كما هي بكل روعتها و حقارتها.. هذا الكتاب فيه كمية هائلة من "التشريح" الصادق و المؤلم للنفس البشرية بكل تجلياتها.
طبيعة كونه تدوين لـ"يوميات" صنعت الكثير من النقلات المفاجئة و التداخل والانقطاع أحياناً مما يربك القارئ ، كما أن الكتاب غارق في التفاصيل هنا تقرأ التفاصيل و الكثير من التفاصيل المدهشة إزاء كل شيء الذات - خصوصاُ- الزمن.. النساء... الأدب.. الدين و العائلة و الهوية .
هي المرة الأولى التي اقرأ لكافكا و بدأت بما قربني إلى شخصه أكثر من أدبه فتشكل لدي نوع من التصور عما يمكن أن يكون أدبه عليه ..أجمل مافي الكتاب هو تلك الأفكار الصغيرة و الملاحظات التي لا تكاد تلمحها حول كل شيء ..بإمكاني القول أن كافكا يملك دهشة طفل و حس فيلسوف فتخيل ما يمكن أن ينتج من تركيبة كهذه الأحاديث التي تدور في خلفية تفكير المرء هي مادة هذا الكتاب الأصوات المتضاربة التي تشغله و تنازعه لذلك هي مرهقة للحد الذي لا تستطيع أن تقرأ معه لمدة طويلة فتلك الأصوات تبدأ هي الأخرى بالإلحاح عليك و تتركك تواجه صداها الذي يتردد بداخلك مثيراً قلقاً كبيراً و أسئلة أكبر – أو لعل هذا ما حدث معي على الأقل-.
بناء على ذلك فإن مادة الكتاب لا تقدم الكثير فكرياً ، و إنما تمسك بك لتوجهك تماماً للزاوية التي يرى بها كافكا كل الأحداث و اللحظات التي مر بها و قد لا يكون بعضها مما يستحق التدوين و لكن شخصيته الحساسة تجاه كل ما حوله تجعل من كل ما يمسها مادة للتأمل و الكتابة ، ولكنها رغم ذلك حملت وشكلت بذوراً لروايات و قصص نشرها كافكا و نشرت له بعد وفاته كالمسخ و المحاكمة ..كما طرح رأيه و قدم قراءات لبعض الأعمال الأدبية المعاصرة و القديمة و لم تخلو اليوميات من حديث عن الدين و السياسة و إن لم تكن كثيفة كملاحظاته المتعلقة بحياته و هويته و مشاعره.
آلمتني الأجزاءالتي يتحدث فيها عن علاقته بأبيه( يصفها كافكا بأنها عدائية) شعرت بالكثير من المرارة و لعل طبيعة هذه العلاقة التي تحوي الكثير من اللوم و الصمت والآمال المتعارضة و الحواجز هي ما أسهم في خلق حساسيته المفرطة و شخصيته الفريدة .
أثارت دهشتي قدرته الفائقةعلى وصف التفاصيل لحد الافتتان بها ، كيف يلتفت إليها و يغدق عليها من التعابير ما يرفعها لمستوى الشخصيات فتجده مثلاً يستغرق في وصف مصباح ما في المسرح أو فستان ممثلة بسلاسة و خفة و يمنحها بذلك معنى و قيمة .
وما يلفت أيضاً هو إحساسه العالي بالزمن فشعوره به وبأنه محاصر ويكاد يكون في صراع معه يعد أمراً يشكل جزء كبيراً من ذاته القلقة و لعل ذلك كان نتيجة مرضه الدائم و هزاله الذي كان يهدد حياته و يؤثر على قراراته كالزواج و الكتابة والرغبة في الإنجاز الأدبي .
علاقته المعقدة مع الناس أيضاً تحتل جزءاً كبيراً من تدويناته فهو يرى نفسه بأنه إنسان ضيئل وعلى قدر من التفاهة و الارتباك في حضور الآخرين مما يمنعه من التواصل معهم بشكل طبيعي و اختلاطه بهم يشكل عبئأ ثقيلاً عليه لأنه رجل يأنس بالوحدة و الأدب وخارج هذين العالمين هو انسان مهزوز و ضعيف نوعاً ما . وهو ما يقودنا لعلاقته الشائكة و المضطربة بالنساء باستثناء والدته .
بالنسبة لأسلوب الكتاب فهو مرتب زمنياً من 1910 – 1923 و أكثر ما اليوميات جمالاً كانت من 1919 – حتى 1923 حيث غابت عنها التفاصيل المملة و أصبحت مختزلة أكثر و يعرض فيها للحديث عن معنى الحياة و قيمتها و ما يشكله معنى الذات و الهوية و قيمة المرء ..وأصبحت تدويناته فلسفية عميقة و أقرب للحكمة و العبر منها إلى التدوين .. وهو من أكثر الفصول قيمة أدبية و فكرية.
و لا أخفي أن قراءة هذا الكتاب مرهقة ..فبعد المقدمة التي تنير لك مسلكاً لقراءة النص، غاب ذكر وجود ملحق كامل للإحالات في نهايته فبالإضافة للهوامش أسفل الصفحات كان هناك ملحق آخراكتشفت وجوده في منتصف قرائتي للكتاب وأيضاً لم تكن تلك الإحالات مرقمة مما جعل الربط بينها وبين الصفحات ضرباً من الإرهاق للقارئ لو كانت أضيف للهوامش أسفل الصفحات كان ذلك سيوفر عناء الإرتباك و يجعل فهم اليوميات أسهل خصوصاُ مع كثرة تكرار أسماء الشخصيات و المدن و الكتب.

نصيحة أخيرة
لا تقرأ هذا الكتاب في فترة تكون فيها سعيداً و متصالحاً مع ذاتك
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Nov 04, 2010

Dan rated it

Shelves: journal-diary

In how many ways is it possible to express one’s discontent? Keeping in mind Chomsky’s observations with regard to the ability of the human mind to construct new sentences, and the infinite variety of the forms of linguistic signification that supplies one of the conditions making this creative power possible, the response to this question could perhaps better be expressed in terms of contingencies like quantum values or Borgesian hypotheses, than in something so literal as an ordinal number. ...moreIn how many ways is it possible to express one’s discontent? Keeping in mind Chomsky’s observations with regard to the ability of the human mind to construct new sentences, and the infinite variety of the forms of linguistic signification that supplies one of the conditions making this creative power possible, the response to this question could perhaps better be expressed in terms of contingencies like quantum values or Borgesian hypotheses, than in something so literal as an ordinal number. Already the question is in question. But to follow the conceptual with the existential (as the ridiculous sometimes follows the sublime), on how many occasions might one return in print to the theme of one’s discontent before exhausting the very finite patience of one’s reader who, lord knows, has problems of his or her own? If you’re Kafka, probably more times than most.

In this edition of Kafka’s diaries, edited by his friend Max Brod (who, contrary to Kafka’s last wishes, rescued his work from oblivion, with the world richer for it), Kafka discusses his discontent in almost every other entry. Discontent with his family (particularly his father), with women to whom he is attracted (particularly F.B.), and always, always with himself (for not getting married, for not working enough).

This is not to say that Kafka only complains, just to say that it seems as if he writes more about his discontent than about any other subject. And because he is intimate with it, he finds more than one way to write about it. Sometimes stating the fact of discontent, with a mention of its cause, perhaps, is enough, but there are other instances in which Kafka will write a paragraph or two commenting on the subject. In some passages, Kafka analyzes his discontent by breaking it into parts which he numbers and discusses separately; in these instances, one gets the sense of Kafka as one who can think about his emotional experiences abstractly and, if not entirely objectively, then without a great amount of distortion. Perhaps it is because of this that of the diaries and journals I have read, I think Kafka’s might be the saddest, but also the most honest.

In addition to supplying the reader with an idea of Kafka’s emotional experiences, the Diaries reflect something of Kafka’s intellectual and creative activity. In the early pages, for instance, he writes frequently of going to the theatre, and describes his impressions of the plays he sees. In these passages one can see the attention to detail that one finds in Kafka’s fiction, particularly in the descriptions of costumes and the gestures and facial expressions of the actors and actresses (by some of whom it seems Kafka may have been a bit starstruck). In addition, he comments on books he is reading, on lectures he has heard, and on his own art and that of others.

Although he writes about his writing in a general way, and does not discuss his intentions with regard to the meanings of works like The Trial and “The Metamorphosis,” there are some passages that, for me, show something of Kafka’s sense of himself as a creative individual. For instance, I was surprised to learn how confident he was with regards to his resolve to be an artist. For an idea of his creative process, the Diaries include passages in which he experiments with ideas for stories, frequently writing a sentence or two or a paragraph of a scene on which a story might open, then stopping, sometimes in mid-sentence.

So how satisfying is it to read of Kafka’s discontent? Pretty satisfying, if you’re interested in knowing something about the mind of a writer.
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Mar 19, 2010

Steve rated it

Recommends it for: only Kafka-worshippers

I didn't want to admit that Kafka was crazy, but it seems impossible not to admit it now. I learned a lot about the man which I had not known before (his enthusiasm for theater, especially Yiddish theater), but I'm not sure it was worth it. It was exhausting, dizzying even, trying to get through this text. It felt like work and I'm not sure whether knowing about any writer's life is of any use in trying to understand or appreciate his work better. As the Schocken description of the book put it, ...moreI didn't want to admit that Kafka was crazy, but it seems impossible not to admit it now. I learned a lot about the man which I had not known before (his enthusiasm for theater, especially Yiddish theater), but I'm not sure it was worth it. It was exhausting, dizzying even, trying to get through this text. It felt like work and I'm not sure whether knowing about any writer's life is of any use in trying to understand or appreciate his work better. As the Schocken description of the book put it, Kafka had "almost psychotic sensitivity" and lived with "almost unbearable intensity."

Other things I didn't know about Kafka: his love of brothels (walking by a brothel, he says, feels like other men feel when they pass the house of their ex-girlfriend; elsewhere he says he prefers older, "stout" whores--speaking of which, have you seen pictures of Felice? Eeeeeeeeew), his two suicide attempts (hard to tell if some of these passages are sarcastic. But two occasions, anyway, on which he "longed for" suicide -- Feb 14-15, 1914 [which is on p 259:] and 1912, his neurasthenia (I don't even know what that is), his insomnia, his migraines, his indigestion (he joked that his fantasy was to eat large quantities of sausage whole, without chewing, to inflict worse pain on himself), his two mental breakdowns (one in 1920 and one in 1922), his brief interest in Theosophy (and his meeting with its founder), his attendance of Zionist lectures and meetings, his keeping a Bible in every room (in his final days).

I was reading this primarily for things that would interest me as a writer, and they were few and far between, but still there. I found his reading lists interesting, his praise for Goethe, Strindberg ("I don't read Strindberg to read him but to rest my head on his breast"), Dickens (he says he wrote Amerika deliberately as a ripoff of Dickens, specifically David Copperfield, as I recall), Hamsun, Tolstoy (Ivan Ilych and the parables). There was some cheap consolation in hearing one of the most influential, original, and powerful writers in history berating himself for laziness, failure to produce, writing useless pages of drivel, and all-around inadequacy. In fact, he started keeping a diary, I'm told, in order to jump start his creativity, which he always complained about. I found it interesting that he died in the sanatorium with Johannes Schlaf, one of the first German realists (whom I've never read). I found myself wondering if Schlaf felt, like Brod did, the lopsidedness of their friendship (no one reads Schlaf now; Kafka is Kafka). Also, what's up with the geocentric stuff? Schlaf was, according to these diaries, an ardent atheist, yet ardently anti-Copernican. Brod and Kafka assured him that time was on his side and Copernicus would be forgotten. Was this a joke too? It's always hard to tell when Kafka is kidding, understating or overstating. In fact, the essence of magical realism (which you may say--and I do say--that Kafka founded) is to take literal what is not literal. Hence, my mind was boggled for most of the 500 pages (I'd say about 425 of them).

There's a wonderful image he uses to describe the difficulty of writing fiction that I will remember, one which is not quite self-pitying like some other entries, but which is rich in insight. December 19, 1914: "I spent the whole night working yet I only wrote one page and it wasn't very good.
The beginning of every story is ridiculous. There seems no hope that this newborn, still incomplete and tender in every joint, will be able to keep alive in the completed organization of the world...However, one should not forget that the story...bears its complete organization in itself even before it has been fully formed; for this reason, despair over the beginning of a story is unwarranted; in a like case parents should have to despair of their suckling infant, for they had no intention of bringing this pathetic and ridiculous being into the world." (p. 322) The comparison with bearing a child is apt: one does not give birth to Socrates, but to a baby. Your job as a parent is to turn that crying baby into Socrates.

While Brod's postscript points out that diaries can be misleading, in that they usually focus on a cathartic expression of what is bothering the diarist, and that Kafka was known as a funny, genial guy, this is a miserable book. The word "despair" might be the most used word in all of it, and the despair only became more acute and more often after his tuberculosis diagnosis. He seemed almost completely unable to be happy: I counted 9 women who were interested in him in the 13 years of his diary-keeping [he was tall, dark, and handsome:], yet he was ambivalent about marriage throughout the whole period. I felt so badly for Felice Bauer, to whom he was engaged twice, and whom he deeply loved. The reason it didn't work out? She wanted a normal life: a good house, children, stability. He wanted to continue writing from midnight to 6 AM (according to his description of how he wrote "The Judgment") and sleeping 2 hours a night. What he did to her was unjust--he led her on for years and, according to the diaries, "brought about her father's death." Kafka says he was angry with his friend Felix for getting married and, says he joked to Felix's mother that the girl was stealing Felix from him, too. Social tact, anyone? Elsewhere, he calls "coitus...punishment for marriage." This ambivalence seems to come from two conflicts within Kafka: (1) his inability not to think of love and sex as two separate things--his love of unattractive women and his attraction to horrible women, and (2) ambivalence about solitude. On the one hand, Kafka was afraid of being alone, but on the other, he was unable to write without being alone, and therefore, felt he had to endure loneliness because God wanted him to write (as Max Brod told Kafka's father). Kafka even, hilariously, like Darwin [same dilemma--work or wife? Productivity or pleasure? Darwin, at least, went with wife, remarking in HIS diary that, for companionship and health, a wife is "better than a dog.":] , made a pro and con list for marrying Felice: "I am completely lost in her, flush whenever I even think about her" but his writing winning out even over this. Perhaps, instead, this ambivalence is rooted in his more general ambivalence about social life ("Everything but literature bores me, even talking about literature.") Kafka couldn't be happy married (he notes how happy all the married men at the office are, with some bitterness he writes, no doubt, adding that he could never be like them) and he couldn't be happy single, living with his parents. "Sisyphus was a bachelor," he jokes (p. 401, January 19, 1922).

I found myself wondering what memories he had of Paris, because he seemed fixated on it. Everything in the 1911 diaries "reminds [him:] of Paris." I was never quite clear as to why or even why he had so much pleasure thinking back on Paris. The Travel Diaries are barely readable, because they are just descriptions of people, descriptions of streets, rivers, etc. Ass-achingly boring. I skipped a few pages of sentence fragments because my head hurt.

I was disturbed by how many of his story fragments (and indeed, stories!) are about either doing violence to a random stranger or having violence done to him by random strangers. Even his dreams were pervaded with violence (I was struck by the one of trying to jam a gigantic naked man into an oven with his father...odd.) This boy was crazy. June 25, 1914: "I paced in my room from early morning until twilight." (p. 290) Is this a joke? Another entry says he washed his hands over and over because he was bored. His entry on the beginning of World War One just says that war was declared...and he went swimming that day. September 13, 1914 (while writing the Trial, and worrying about World War I) "Perhaps I have been created to die of worry." (p. 314)

There was a lot less about his family here than I expected, perhaps because Brod cut out passages he felt were too intimate, according to the postscript. His parents always seem to be playing cards mindlessly, his sister nosily hovering over him as he writes. Perhaps there is not much about his family BECAUSE he can't stand them. November 12, 1914: "Parents who expect gratitude from their children (and some insist on it) are like usurers who gladly risk their capital if only they receive interest." (p. 317)

The back of the book says it is "compulsively readable." This is not true. It was work, taking up much more of the day than I had wanted, and it is only barely worth it. At least I know I'm not crazy, or at least not as crazy as Kafka!

For a much better review than this, check out Zadie Smith's:
http://www.nybooks.com/articles/21610
(less)

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Dec 31, 2008

Felix rated it

I read these journals more than ten years ago (different edition), but they made a very lasting impression on me. They are interesting, haunting, and filled with humor. These are the qualities of Kafka's novels and short stories, although I enjoyed the journals the most. I would highly recommend to any fans of Kafka, the disconsolate, and those interested in the process of writing.

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Oct 31, 2007

Sunil rated it

Shelves: self-narratives, reviews, favorites

Anais Nin once wrote that a personal world lived deep enough transcends the truth in all universes. Those words have never been more applicable to any writer other than Franz Kafka. And in this book you can see why.

I remember reading it throughout a whole couple of nights, unable to force myself to stop, absolutely fascinated by a world constructed so delicately, yet unabatedly-sentence by sublime sentence into a marvellous prose edifice.
I can still recall one entire setting ...more

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Jun 04, 2007

Otto added it

Kafka's unknowing masterwork. Reveals a creative obsession that manifests itself as nihlism for all other activities, which in turn causes an internal struggle that the entire human race can empathize with. Kafka is a heroic modern figure precisely because he is totally human.

His love of books mirrors my own, and his desires, as well as philosophy, are my own.

The purpose of literature:
"I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us. If ...more

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May 11, 2011

Liz rated it

I have never read this cover to cover and do not think it advisable. but I've been dipping into it every so often for the past like 5 years and I always come away feeling better about feeling bad. totally hilarious in that layer-upon-layer-of-over-analysis way.

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May 31, 2011

بثينة العيسى rated it

· review of another edition

قراءة "يوميات كافكا" تشبه أن تضيع إلى الأبد في الاحساس العارم بالخزي. تشبه التيه.. تشبه التجول في جغرافيا جرح ملتهب بلا خارطة.

أتعبني. كافكا الأديب عبقرية محضة، كافكا الإنسان مجرد خيبة أمل.

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Apr 13, 2010

Andrew rated it

I enjoy reading a page or two from this each day, can't imagine encountering it any other way. His letters are almost (for me) more engaging than his fiction.

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Feb 04, 2012

Jeska Duman is currently reading it

exactly the kind of terrible boyfriend you'd always hoped to escape from, not as sullen as misunderstood as when you were 16 years old.

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Apr 02, 2009

Nettel rated it

This is a book you can read several times since not everything can be understood right away. A lot of psychology.

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Nov 10, 2011

طاهر الزهراني rated it

· review of another edition

الكتاب جميل ورائع، وتزداد قيمة الكتاب بقربك من أدب الكاتب

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Apr 30, 2007

Matthew rated it

A special work to be read and re-read, just for the intimacy to be gained with him, and his mind and emotions, and the experiences that affect him and influence him most directly. He is always there, I feel, just within arm's reach, when I need someone to turn to when I'm feeling down or delicate in ways he might have. I can wallow with him, I can be reassured, and thus move on. In his diaries is some of his greatest writing because of how close he draws us into his life, sometimes with just a v...more

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Mar 30, 2009

Keith Miller added it

The Diaries of Franz Kafka (Schocken Classics Series) by Franz Kafka (1988)

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May 12, 2011

Auliamuftihani added it

nothing imposible

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Apr 04, 2010

Nick Lomonossoff rated it

What can I say? The man was a genius, and Max Brod's translation and editing are outstanding. It's a bit challenging, though, to be subjected to someone else's suffering, however talented and sensitive the person, for over 400 pages, but that's no doubt a self-indulgent complaint. Probably, the most interesting episodes are those where Kafka is engaged in making short sketches which eventually found their way into his stories and novels. A hard mind to fathom, but also a hard one not to admi...more

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May 31, 2011

Dave rated it

Am reading a couple of pages every couple of days, its a humbling experience. He was very much in touch with his physical self and was also in touch with everything happening around him. From what we know, and I guess this diary confirms it (he maintained several diaries), Kafka didn't write to expose the isolation of man in modern society (The Trial, The Castle, The Penal Colony), his works just seem to be that way. Instead he was driven to write by his inner life.

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Apr 23, 2011

Lorraine rated it

· review of another edition

The only thing which prevented this from getting 5 stars was my own idiosyncracy. I dislike having to read works-in-progress in diaries -- I want commentary on the work instead. And gossip :P Thus I prefer Woolf's diaries. But Kafka has the third eye, and when he sees he penetrates to the heart of the matter. It is sorta scary yet liberating. The ability to view a world which we cannot see, which is the very foundation upon which the world which we can see exists...

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Apr 10, 2008

Erica rated it

"Lay your eggs honestly, in the open, and the sun will hatch them; better to bit into life than to bite your tongue; honor the mole and his kind, but do not make it one of your saints."

I no longer remember if it was from the diaries or in the letters, but I learned that painfully introspective people can give well-crafted, if totally unheeded, advice about the importance of sociability.

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Jun 24, 2011

Tora marked it as to-read · review of another edition

Shelves: hibernating

Denne var vanskelig. Jeg interesserer meg for deler av den, så ikke i det hele tatt. Den er veldig fragmentert og det gjør at det er vanskelig å få tak på den. Legger den til side etter ca. 50 sider.

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Mar 20, 2007

Sarahlou rated it

Recommends it for: cordon-bleu

pretty great; not as kafka, but as diaries. and as a text that will give you whatever you want, but shape it so that you aren't driving your project by the time you've finished.

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Nov 20, 2007

Cory is currently reading it

Shelves: put-aside

Another to be taken dipped into and not read continuously. As brilliant as he was, and as insightful as this book is, I need a story to sink into.

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Feb 15, 2008

Ariel Cruz rated it

Recommends it for: Kafka fans.

Shelves: fiction, history, philosophy

Sheds a great deal of light on the enigmatic fictional work, as well as having some nice little experimental pieces and maxims.

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Jun 20, 2008

Hey rated it

As far as I am concerned, Kafka spent his entire adult life writing one not-so-long story.

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Jun 24, 2011

Tara Rose rated it

Been looking for this ever since I got back from Prague; thanks Spoonbill books :)

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Jun 10, 2010

Adam Floridia marked it as to-read

my nightstand read (again, some day)

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Sep 08, 2008

Craig rated it

A poison torrent of banalaties.

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Dec 15, 2007

Megan rated it

Good fun, good fun.

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About Franz Kafka

Franz Kafka (German pronunciation: [ˈfʀants ˈkafka]) was one of the major fiction writers of the 20th century. He was born to a middle-class German-speaking Jewish family in Prague, Bohemia (presently the Czech Republic), Austria–Hungary. His unique body of writing—much of which is incomplete and which was mainly published posthumously—is considered to be among the most influential in Western lite...moreFranz Kafka (German pronunciation: [ˈfʀants ˈkafka]) was one of the major fiction writers of the 20th century. He was born to a middle-class German-speaking Jewish family in Prague, Bohemia (presently the Czech Republic), Austria–Hungary. His unique body of writing—much of which is incomplete and which was mainly published posthumously—is considered to be among the most influential in Western literature.

His stories include The Metamorphosis (1912) and In the Penal Colony (1914), while his novels are The Trial (1925), The Castle (1926) and Amerika (1927).

Kafka learned German as his first language, but he was also fluent in Czech. Later, Kafka acquired some knowledge of French language and culture; one of his favorite authors was Flaubert.

Kafka first studied chemistry at the Charles-Ferdinand University of Prague, but switched after two weeks to law. This offered a range of career possibilities, which pleased his father, and required a longer course of study that gave Kafka time to take classes in German studies and art history. At the university, he joined a student club, named Lese- und Redehalle der Deutschen Studenten, which organized literary events, readings and other activities. In the end of his first year of studies, he met Max Brod, who would become a close friend of his throughout his life, together with the journalist Felix Weltsch, who also studied law. Kafka obtained the degree of Doctor of Law on 18 June 1906 and performed an obligatory year of unpaid service as law clerk for the civil and criminal courts.

Kafka's writing attracted little attention until after his death. During his lifetime, he published only a few short stories and never finished any of his novels, unless "The Metamorphosis" is considered a (short) novel. Prior to his death, Kafka wrote to his friend and literary executor Max Brod: "Dearest Max, my last request: Everything I leave behind me ... in the way of diaries, manuscripts, letters (my own and others'), sketches, and so on, [is] to be burned unread." Brod overrode Kafka's wishes, believing that Kafka had given these directions to him specifically because Kafka knew he would not honor them—Brod had told him as much. Brod, in fact, would oversee the publication of most of Kafka's work in his possession, which soon began to attract attention and high critical regard.

Max Brod encountered significant difficulty in compiling Kafka's notebooks into any chronological order as Kafka was known to start writing in the middle of notebooks, from the last towards the first, etc.

All of Kafka's published works, except several letters he wrote in Czech to Milena Jesenská, were written in German.(less)

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“The person I am in the company of my sisters has been entirely different from the person I am in the company of other people. Fearless, powerful, surprising, moved as I otherwise am only when I write.” — 28 people liked it

“Life's splendor forever lies in wait about each one of us in all its fullness, but veiled from view, deep down, invisible, far off. It is there, though, not hostile, not reluctant, not deaf. If you summon it by the right word, by its right name, it will come.” — 27 people liked it

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