Kafka

I've been interested on Kafka since I was a kid, when I heard about the man that became a bug - this kind of subject is common in terror movies. Then, ten years later, I've bought Metamorphosis and started to read it. Finished. Didn't understand a single word. That novel is about things that, until recently, I just couldn't comprehend - familiar conflicts, opression, rejection, absurd. Last week, I decided to try again: acquired Entrelivros Magazine number 27. Franz Kafka's caricature was on cover, with huge ears.

It seems that his geniality rely on the sad relationship with his father, who was rude and obcessed with enrichment and social elevation. The sense of absurd and other Kafka's characteristics, presumedly, came from the struggle with the temper of his parents, specially the man, what left marks upon the writer's entire production.

The creator of Gregor Samsa died 41 years old, in 1924, in a sanatorium in his hometown, Praga. He didn't had in life half the recognition that came after death. All fame was post mortem.

Some genius are just like manhood's scapegoats. They come, bear true important works, that influence all the world, and die with no rewards. They come to suffer. Suffer to create. Create but few understand. Pass by. Only then, somebody discovers the qualities of the departed. Kafka, Van Gogh, George Orwell, they are so many.... At least, one of those, the most important, came back from the dead.