Franz Kafka’s Amerika depicts the story of Karl Roman, having been seduced by a housemaid, travels from Europe to New York. With little-to-no belongings, Karl has to rely on his charm to carry him through his journey as he encounters the forces of foreign hostility along the way.
“A sudden burst of sunshine seemed to illumine the Statue of Liberty, so that he saw it in a new light, although he had sighted it long before”
Written at the turn of the century, this line aptly acts as a microcosm for literature’s plunge into Modernism, where the art form was viewed in a different light. Focusing on the ‘dismay’ experienced when one realises they have ‘forgotten their umbrella down below’, Kafka swiftly puts emphasis on the previously declared ‘unimportant’ aspects of life for literature.
It is one of those books that, at the end, you do ask yourself just slightly: ‘What did I read?’. Honestly, that is a completely valid question upon reflection. Little actually occurs, holding true to Kafka’s typically hopeless novel style. The author artistically builds the plot only to deflate it, yet we read on, drawn along by the complexities of the character-craft. This novel is not fascinating, but in this sense the novel itself is quite ground-breaking as it drives forth the new era of novel-hood.
Rather ironically, the book alters the typical bounds of authorship. Published after his death, the book is completed by someone else. Leaving it a mystery, something incomplete and alterable much like Kafka viewed senses. The story itself, about a foreigner entering an unfamiliar setting, may reflect the new incoming wave of literature as Kafka too hands his novel over into unfamiliar hands — apprehensively making its way through the established conventions.