In his protagonist, Richard Hieck, Broch has presented us with a companion to Robert Musil's Ulrich: both are men influenced by the unsettling theories of their time and both search for meaning within the maddening cacaphony of ideas, but where Ulrich is swallowed by the din Broch presents us with an intriguing resolution to the problems of disorder. Hieck is a mathematician, an astronomer, a scientist - he is a lonely man who pursues knowledge down all of its blind alleys and dead ends purely for the sake of the pursuit, certain that there is no end, no ultimate goal. All of his relationships with the world are kept at an uneasy distance; from his half-demented mentor Doctor Weitprecht, his saintly younger sister Susanne (whose own response to the chaos of her times is to become a true "Bride of Christ"), his bohemian artist brother Otto - all are as equally inscrutable to Richard as are the millions of stars which pattern the night sky. And throughout his quest he remains haunted by the memory of his father, himself a scientist who succombed to the madness of the universe; it would seem that Richard is doomed to an obscure life and unrepented death. Can he be saved?
I mention the comparison to Robert Musil's masterpiece, "The Man Without Qualities" not only because it bears a relation to Broch's work but also because the respective authors seemed to have know of their connection. No less an authority that Elias Canetti - who knew both men - explains the animosity between the two thusly: Musil believed Broch to be an amateurish writer and was suspicious that Broch could claim to have "solved" the ideas presented in his works so quickly ("The Unknown Quantity" was written in six months while Musil's own opus went unfinished after a lifetime of work). Broch believed Musil a "king of a paper empire" whose life's work mirrored the chaotic unfathomability of the time. This writer's spat aside, I think that it illustrates Broch's conclusion, perhaps his "solution" to the Unknown Quantity.
Broch suggests that the missing element in the equation of Richard Hieck's life is simply love: "an awkward kiss released from all willing, released from Being, upborne by a wave of darkness." p.132 When Hieck accepts that there are no answers to be discerned from the infinity of stars above, when he allows himself to recognize the beauty that is next to him in the person of the devoted Ilse Nydhalm, when he understands that he cannot make himself desireless - only then is Richard Hieck saved from the world of pure knowledge. "[I]n the lonliness of the heart everything is absolute, in the heart there are no statistically approximate values, there the law is valid, and that is all that there is to say." p.176 The Unknown Quantity is elusive for Richard, but it is also his salvation.
I recommend this novel as a fine introduction to Hermann Broch, who is at his most accesible in this, his fourth work (published in 1933). It presents many of the same themes which dominate Broch's works, from his "Sleepwalkers" trilogy down to "The Guiltless." A challenging writer and a satisfying read.

I know Kafka was not American. I know that he wasn't even British and that he didn't speak English. He was Czech. He wrote in German. But "AMERICA" is spelled with a "C". I can't fault Kaca for this mistake. But his editors should have noticed it, I think.

"Amerika" is the German spelling of America, and likewise, Kafka wrote in German. It is not a misspelling, nor an oversight.

It amazes me how Kafka has caught the American spirit so well. Since the end of World War II, Ameirican culture has become increasng hedonistic at the expense of other nations and even our own poor. But that spirit is reflected especially so in the 1990's where we seem to have forgotten what it means to look out for one another, and have lost the meaning of true hospitality and human empathy. Perhaps, Tom Brokaw in his new book, The Greatest Generation, is right; not since our grandparents has the nation cared for it's own in such an unselfish manner. That sense of caring seems to have been lost to us today.

I wrote the first review here of _The Sleepwalkers_.

Since a subsequent reviewer has mentioned Broch's "political activities", perhaps it is relevant here to quote something his son (H.F. Broch de Rothermann) told me: "There are many persons who could have done for the United Nations what my father did, but there is no one who can write the novels which for that reason [i.e., because Broch spent his time and energy on the UN instead of writing...] went unwritten."

It is a paradox that two of the most boldly innovative novels of the 20th century were written by a man who regarded literature as a poor substitute for philosophy. Hermann Broch undertook ''The Death of Virgil'', a fictional vision rivaled only by ''Finnegans Wake,'' because the radio station that commissioned him in the mid-30's to address the problem of literature at the end of a cultureal epoch insisted on a story rather than a lecture. When his narrative led him, like his hero Virgil, to the conclusion that poetry is immoral in an age of decline, Broch rejected literature and devoted himself until his death in 1951 to the study of mass psychology and politics.

''The Sleepwalkers'' is a thesis novel with a vengeance. According to Broch, sleepwalkers are people living between vanishing and emerging ethical systems, just as the somnambulist exists in a state between sleeping and walking. The trilogy portrays three representative cases of ''loneliness of the I'' stemming from the collapse of any sustaining system of values. ''The Romantic,'' a subtle parody of 19th-century realism, takes place in Berlin in 1888 and focuses on the Purssian landed gentry. Joachim von Pasenow is a romantic because he clings desperately to values that others regard as outmoded, and this ''emotional lethargy'' lends his personality a certain quaint courtliness but renders him unfit to deal with situations that do not fit into his narrow Junker code, such as his love affiar with a passionate lower-class young woman. ''The Anarchist'' moves west to Cologne and Mannheim in 1903 and shifts to the urban working class. The accountant August Esch, who lives by the motto ''business is business,'' seeks an escape into eroticism when he realizes that double-entry bookkeeping cannot balance the ethical debits and credits in the turbulent society of prewar Germany.

A plot summary does justice neither to the narrative power of ''The Sleepwalkers'' nor to its experimental origniality. Hoping to achieve what he called ''polyhistorical totality,'' Broch included, after the manner of Dos Passos, a number of parallel plots involving characters who exemplify the theme of existential loneliness - the esthete Eduard von Bertrand, a shadowy figure on whom the others project their hopes and fears; the shellshocked sholdier Godicke, who must reassemble his personality in The veterans' hosptial; the architect Jaretzki, who loses an arm in the war and with it, symbolically, his sense of proporation; the alienated young wife Hannah Wendling; the orphan Marguerite; and others. And the three parts are unified through a complex set of images involving uniforms (security) and the Statue of Liberty (freedom), a small reproduction of which Esch dreams over.

BUT multiplicity of narratives was not enough for Broch. He wanted to demonstrate that rationalism and irrationalism are also among the fragments that litter the psychic landscape when ethical unity falls apart. To represent these poles, he incorporated into the lengthy third part 16 chapters that sometimes rise to pure lyric poetry and 10 chapters of an essay titled ''Disintegration of Values.'' While the essay expounds the philosophical theory underlying the novel, the ''ballad'' tells a story seemingly unrelated to them main narrative - the love of a Salvation Army girl in Berlin and the Jew Nuchem is doomed by irreconcilable differences in religion. We come to realize that the narrator of the ballad, Dr. Bertrand Muller, is also the author of ''Disintegration of Values.'' Since the essay embraces the various plots, he is by extension the author of the entire novel. Through this series of encapsulations, Broch sought to create an ''absolute'' novel that, as in Einstein's theory of relativity, contained its own observer within the filed of observation.

This is a classic that enlarged the scope of 20th-century fiction by focusing with unparalleled precision on the profound transformation of values that produced the modern consciousness...

Broch's Trilogy is the chronicle of the evolution of Germany in particular and the whole Europe in general between the years 1888 and 1918. The philosophical focus of the trilogy should be searched for in the third novel, Huguenau or the Realist and within that in the essay 'Disintegration of Values", which is allegedly written by a Bertrand Mueller, who according to Broch himself is the same Bertrand who appears in the first two novels of the trilogy. The essay on disintegration of values closely follows Max Weber's Protestant Ethics and the Spirit of Capitalism. In fact not before we understand Weber's theory of modernity and the role of the protestant reformation in the rise of modern Capitalism can we appreciate the full vigor of Broch's narrative. In ten separate parts, Broch explains masterfully the notion of style of an age, the relation of plastic arts with the the style, the concept of inner logic within each indididual value-system and the effect of it on the life of the individual. The third part of the novel, the realist, is the culmination of the trilogy as such. It is where all the characters meet and it is there that Broch uses all different narrative modes. A certain air of inevitablity is prevalent in Broch's narrative of the disintegration of values, which, in turn, appears to follow a certain Hegelian Historicism. This third novel of the trilogy consists of five separate parts, three of which are stories taking place in a German city near the Belgian borders and the other two are the story of the Salvation Army Girl in Berlin, which is Bertrand Mueller's journal and then his essay on the disintegration of values. It is Broch's wonderful technique to combine all five narratives as one by integrating the story of Huguenau in the essay, as though Mueller, omnisciently and from afar comments on the life of the people in this small and remote town. Bertrand Muellr, therefore, is Broch's own alter ego. He, along with Broch, is the author of Disintegration of Values. Reading The Sleepwalkers with patience is a joy. Loiter around every page, every line, every word, read them again and again and let them shine their light upon your eyes.

The Trial is definately the best book I have ever read, though I do love Kafka's other works as well. I keep coming back to The Trial, over and over again, it's a book you can read a thousand times, and never be sick of. Kafka brings you in to his world of confusion and angst, through this amazing story. The words make you feel the way the main character, Josef K. feels, and enables you to imagine yourself in his situation. The Trial makes you think about your own life, and what "innocence" really means. I strongly recommend this book to any literature lover, Kafka lover - or anyone really. This is a book written by one of the most important authors of our history, a must-read.

We should all know the story concerning one of the greatest novels ever written, about a man being awaken to find out he is under arrest for a crime he knows nothing about, and charged by an unknown person.
It's been debated as to what is really Kafka's novel all about. Some say, it's "hero"(?) Joseph K. represents the "every man". Who has been forced to live in a world, where's man's biggest sin is being himself. The character K. like Kafka himself feels they are an outsider in a world they cannot function in. Others still, see the book as merely a semi-autobiography as Kafka's own feelings of worthlessness. We all know Kafka even doubted his own talents as a writer. But, yet again, others think that "K." is not the "every man". That he is guilty of his "sins".
So, what does all of this prove? It simply goes to show you the impact Franz Kafka has left on the world. Here we have a book published in 1925 and still causes debate as to what exactly were Kafka's intentions. If, infact, he didn't have any intentions!
'The Trial', to me is a story of a man's loneliness. It's a story of man who probably is guilty of what he is charged with. And we slowly read about his desent into a world of paranoia. I've heard some people agrue that what happens to "K." is all merely a dream. None of it ever really happened, but, it was "K." himself who brought this punishment on himself. Sort of like how Kafka himself did by never marrying the girl he loved, by living in the shadows of his father, who he adored, and never having an self confidence. If what happens in 'The Trial' is a dream, you can bet "K." learned something.
There's something about Kafka that fasincates me. He is one of my favorite authors. I find Kafka himself to be just as interesting has the stories he wrote. People tend to forget or overlook something in Kafka's writing. He WAS funny. His novels all have moments that are truly inspired. One of my favorite chapters in this book deals with "The Painter". What happens has "K." trys to leave and the Painter stops him asking him if he wants to buy a painting had me laughing.
For those of you who have never read this book, I do completely recommend it. You will find the book to be fascinating. Kafka was a master of thinking up these surreal stories. You may be bothered by the book's conclusion. Not that you'll mind the final act against "K." but, you'll be bothered by the way it happens. You would have expected more of a set-up. I know I did. Others who read the book may feel the book is incomplete. And that may lead them to dislike it. You are right in your judgement that the book is incomplete, but, remember, Kafka never wanted any of his books published. There's actually a chapter in here that was never finished. And, even though it is incomplete that didn't stop me from truly enjoying this masterpiece. If you have never read anything by Kafka, this is a fine place to start. I hope everyone finds 'The Trial' to be as enjoyable as I did.
Bottom-line: One of the great works by Kafka. It touches on themes that were ahead of their time. Themes that are still around us today. An excellent example of the paranoid mind. Everyone should read this!

If you are into existencialism or if you are worried about the meaning of your subjective life and the absurdity of the workings of modern society, this is a book you must read. Or maybe, if you read this though provoking masterpiece, you will start to think seriously about these issues and other aspects of the individual, and its daily relationship with society, bureaucracy and power.
This book was published poshumously in 1925 (Kafka died in 1924), and is considered by many philosophers and critics the best that he wrote.
The description of solitude and of the alienation of the modern human being is at the core of all Kafka's opus. We could consider that K. anticipated some recurrent themes of the existencialists. His detailed and realistic description of the human individual existence reveals its absurdity and irreality. From a metaphysical perspective, the absurd is based on the absence of God and the impossibility to understand anything that goes beyond rationality. From the social standpoint, it stems from the suffocating or controlling character of modern society. Struck by these complexities, the individual can only seek refuge in his small personal reality, renouncing reassuring answers and certainties.

I'm going to go out on a limb here and give this book a negative review. It's not that I don't like Kafka, I've read most of his fiction and I think he was a brilliant writer. But this book just disappointed me. It's a few hundred pages too long--he pretty much makes most of his main points in the first part of the book and the remaining narrative seems superfluous and, well, tedious. Although his other two novels are also "unfinished" I think he expressed himself much more clearly in them. I agree with the other reviewers that this novel was about many things, i.e. the quest for truth, the frustration of the invididual facing the state and society itself, etc., but I think it could have been done better, especially by someone like Kafka. While reading "The Castle" I couldn't get over the impression that I was reading the first draft of something the author probably would have refined and improved had he lived longer.

I would not buy this book if it were your first forray into the realm of Kafka. But the short stories first, then Amerika, then the trial, and then, if you could make it through the trial, try this read.

The new translation is excellent (I've read both translations) and puts an even grimmer spin on life in the village of the castle.

Please note: Kafka died before finishing the book and he never really prepared it for publication. There are sentences that run half a page, and paragaphs that run almost a whole chapter. The final page ends mid sentence.

If you are a fan of Kafka then this book is a must read, especially if you read the Muir translation of The Castle.

Translation means everything! Over the years I've read much of Kafka especially during adolescence and into my early twenties when his worldview spoke most directly to my own attempts to understand how the world really worked. Of all his books only The Castle totally defeated me. I must have begun it five times in my life, only to abandon it partway through. Now I know why. It wasn't Kafka. It was the translation.

Mark Harmon's translation brought Kafka close to my ear and heart, the way he used to when I was younger. I could see the darkness of his interiors, feel the cold of his snow covered wind blown exteriors, smell the stale beer of the taproom, taste the small meals and strong coffee served, sense the animal []attractions of his characters. Most of all I could really hear the voices of his people as they simultaneously revealed and concealed themselves through their stories.

Sometimes I laughed out loud. Sometimes my hair stood on end at the dark realities which this book unveils. The Barnabas family stories in particular chilled me. Especially in this time of fear and shunning by powerful majorities of the 'others'in our societies and in the exhaustion of the 'cleansings' and genocides of the last century, the fall of that family made me feel like I was inside a hateful part of our past, present and future.

I've now lived part of my life within bureaucratic organizations, even as an 'official' and I understand as I couldn't as a youth how absolutely Kafka has gotten to the deepest truths about how our power structures work. What it's like to be enmeshed as part of them, and-or to be at their mercy. It is hard to find free space in the world.

I used to think Kafka was a genius and an artist of the highest rank. Now, reading him in an excellent translation I understand that he was also a prophet.

Comparing these translations to other versions, these translations are horrible. With Kafka, even just one word can change the entire meaning of his work. I would recommend Malcolm Pasley's translations of Kafka instead.

Check Your Review of
Collected Stories (Everyman's Library)
by Franz Kafka, et al

Here is your review the way it will appear:

= ÊÊ the Muir's in tux and bow tie
Reviewer: Michael Sympson from Florida
It has become customary for a current translator to preface his production with a little critique of his predecessors, especially the Muirs Ð after all we are not supposed to put our light under a bushel, but just between you and me: a great translator is just as rare as a great author, there might be billions and quadrillions of stars in the Universe, but the nights are still dark and the zodiac shows the same old signs since the countdown began at 11.00 am on Sunday, April 27th, 3877 BC. (central European time). Perhaps if the pay would be better there would be more stars in the firmament over Grub street.

So, since this is not the best of all worlds, only the best of all possible worlds, if not the only possible world, we better brace ourselves for surprises when a latter day translator of some repute allows to compare the "Country Doctor," perhaps Kafka's finest achievement, in his new version, with the established rendition of the Muirs. The very first sentence draws the line. Neugroshel (ÒThe Metamorphosis, in the Penal Colony, and Other StoriesÓ) thinks he knows better than the author and trims the sentence to bite-size:

"I was in a great predicament: an urgent trip lay ahead of me; a dangerously ill patient awaited me in a village ten leagues away; a heavy blizzard filled the vast space between me and him; I did have a wagon, lightweight, with large wheels, just the right kind of wagon for our country roads. Bundled up in my fur coat, holding my instrument bag, I stood in the courtyard, ready to travel; but the horse was lacking, the horse." But Kafka didnÕt write for the ÒToronto StarÓ and felt no obligation to chop his sentences to anemic tidbits for the weak digestion. The Muirs thought so too:

"I was in great perplexity, I had to start an urgent journey; a seriously ill patient was waiting for me in a village ten miles off; a thick blizzard of snow filled all the wide spaces between him and me; I had a gig, a light gig with big wheels, exactly right for our country roads; muffled in furs, my bag of instruments in my hand, I was in the courtyard all ready for the journey; but there was no horse to be had, no horse." Perhaps not the choice of words, but syntax and rhythm are incomparably closer to the original; in fact, this sentence alone deserves to be copyrighted for eternity and should oblige every succeeding translator to quote the Muirs. And why stop with the first sentence? The entire story is coming across splendidly. And by the way, the doctor used a gig, not a wagon, Mr. Neugroschel.

ÒEvery author creates his own pedigreeÓ says Jorge Luis Borges; and we know from KafkaÕs own testimony whom he had chosen as his models. Charles DickensÕ white hot fusion of language and imagery left its mark on ÒAmerica;Ó Flaubert taught Kafka the discipline to say extraordinary things in ordinary language and seek for the one befitting word; and late in his life, Heinrich von KleistÕs marvellous economy of structure and style left an indelible impression on Kafka. To some extent, Kafka even appreciated Friedrich Nietzsche. Just recall the rants and paragraphs of endless to-and-fro soliloquies in Ôlegalese,Õ KafkaÕs variety of the interior monologue.

Such were, what Kafka himself had recognized as formative influences. His friend Max Brod however, preferred to add Kierkegaard to this list and to belittle Nietzsche. BrodÕs view prevailed with the critics of his generation. KafkaÕs work drifted into the murky neighborhood of existentialism and of nebulous metaphysics for the secular seeker. For most critics and many readers, Kafka had turned from an artist to a saint. Regrettably the Muirs picked up on this trend and this sometimes slanted their choices in the phrasing - notice ÒI had to start an urgent journey ... :Ó Neugroschel was right to play it down in his rendition. Against all appearances, Kafka is not a latter day John Bunyan.

According to Stephen King (you are right, how could I sink so low) the two most important ingredients of fiction are empathy (the readerÕs) and the ability to hypnotize (on the authorÕs part). The man is right, and Kafka does possess hypnotic powers if the reader is willing to yield to his magic. KafkaÕs stories are dreams, not more real than fairy tales, and full of symbols as confusing as in a nightmare. The Muirs had enough artistic instinct to actually perceive that, and all things considered, produced a translation, which will remain the standard for still a very long time to come.

This is my absolute favorite book by my favorite writer, Kafka. As a 17 year old student at a boarding high school, my writing teacher lent me her copy of "The Metamorphosis" (the Muir translation), which I instantly fell in love with. I immediately bought the Everyman's Library edition of Kafka's Collected Stories, which I believe to be the best collection of Kafka's stories out there. There is a controversial topic over which translator best captures Kafka's intent, this book uses the Muir translation in the first half which I believe, though it may not be as accurate as the Corngold translation, flows better languistically and is easier to read. The book, while visually pleasing, arranges the stories in the most sensible way: instead of placing the stories in alphabetical order, like the other books, it arranges them chronologically in the book they were originally in (e.g. stories that were published in "Meditations" are in the Meditations section and not scattered about). Choice stories include "In the Penal Colony," "Report to an Academy," "The Metamorphosis," and, the most heart-wrenching and simply beautiful, "Josephine the Singer or the Mouse Folk," which was arguably the last story Kafka wrote before his death in 1924. The book also contains a number of unpublished stories (make that 'unfinished,' as unfortunately many break off mid-text, contain a note of 'two pages missing...' and then continue on, leaving the reader a little baffled), which will content those who have read absolutely everything that Kafka published. While it does not contain "The Trial," "The Castle," or "Amerika" (although it has the first chapter, "The Stoker"), it contains, I'm pretty sure, everything else. The book also has a lengthy introduction, but I would advise the reader to first read the book and then the introduction, because the intro alludes to stories in the book and is confusing unless you have read the story that they're talking about. A short literary chronology is also included. This book is well worth the money and I highly recommend it. This is possibly the most beautiful collection of stories I have ever read.

The book starts with the seen of Karl Rossmann, a sixteen years old boy from Germany, standing on the liner entering the harbour of New York. He was forced to leave Europe by his parents because a servant girl seduced him and got herself with child by him. America does not look at first sight as a friendly place: the Statue of Liberty, for instance, is depicted with a sword in her hand instead of a torch. The book then tells the adventures of Karl, the people he meets, the places he visits and the jobs he finds. The atmospheres vary from the classical dreamy nightmarish set of other Kafka's books to a realistic set which, in some way, is even stranger and more disquieting. Everything can be seen as real, especially if the reader considers that the point of view is the one of a sixteen years old finding himself alone in an unknown country where a language, that he must learn, is spoken.

Unfortunately, the book is unfinished. The first six chapters are complete. Between the seven and the eight chapter there is a gap, the eight chapter, which was supposed to be the last one, is unfinished. Therefore, I suggest to readers who never read Kafka to start from some other book such as "the trial", "the metamorphosis" or the other short stories. Readers, who are familiar with other works by Kafka, will find in this book a lighter mood.

"Amerika" looks like it was written by someone who not only had never been to America but did not even care to know what it's really like. But Kafka's style is all about transforming the real into the surreal, tainting reality and disturbing our sense of order and structure. Even in the book's very first paragraph, when a ship carrying the protagonist, Karl Rossmann, approaches New York, the Statue of Liberty is depicted as holding in her raised hand not a torch symbolizing a beacon to welcome immigrants, but a sword, ominously threatening aggression. Similarly, when later in the book New York and Boston are described as being separated by the Hudson River, one wonders whether Kafka was sincerely ignorant of American geography or deliberately distorting it to create a dreamlike effect.

Karl, a German-speaking teenager from Prague, has been sent to America by his parents to evade charges of paternity by a maidservant he has impregnated. He is to learn English and complete his education while living with his uncle Jakob, owner of a shipping business. Soon he is invited to the mansion of one of uncle's friends, where he is assaulted by this man's daughter and loses himself within the enormous house's labyrinth of dark corridors. This is a typical Kafka touch -- enshrouding a normal situation with an eerie atmosphere and a sense of foreboding.

After Karl is expelled by his uncle over an unintended act of disrespect, he takes to the road and hooks up with two rough drifters named Delamarche and Robinson. They proceed to bully and steal from him and eventually cause him to lose his job as a hotel elevator operator, and, when all three end up living in an apartment with an imperious fat woman named Brunelda, Karl even becomes their prisoner and slave. These situations of helplessness and unfairness are evidence of more of Kafka's stylistic attributes -- paranoia and persecution fantasy -- which are employed to more morbid effect in "The Trial."

Like much of Kafka's work, "Amerika" is uncompleted, and we are left with a potentially intriguing fragment in which Karl, having somehow escaped his state of captivity, gets a job with a roadshow organization called the Theatre of Oklahoma, which promises (but ultimately cheats us out of) further bizarre adventures into the heartland of America. Kafka seems to imagine American showmanship as a perverse form of public spectacle; his portrayal of a street parade for the election of a judge, which Karl watches rapturously from Brunelda's balcony, is a narrative tour de force of human chaos.

The book's subtitle, "The Man Who Disappeared," expresses an idea that many Europeans may have had about America -- that emigration there was a final and irrevocable abandonment of cultural roots. But Kafka was not like many Europeans, let alone many people, and his theme can be interpreted more accurately as a descent into hell, a severance of all family ties (Karl lamentably loses his only photograph of his parents) and an immersion into the unknown. We can only hope that Karl, having sailed across the Atlantic like the dead being ferried by Charon across the river Styx, will be lucky enough to avoid the left-hand path towards his own personal Tartarus.

"Amerika" was the first book by Franz Kafka that I read, and it was definitely a treat.

Poor Karl Rossman, shipped off to America by his parents for having a child with a maid, has his first adventure on the boat in New York's harbor. Helping a stoker who feels he's being treated unfairly, he (Karl) happens to find his Uncle Jacob on the boat. The very Uncle Jacob who was waiting for his arrival!

So it's the cushy life for Karl right? Weeeell, not exactly. It starts out that way but eventually Karl ends up on his own.

"Amerika" has more humor in it than Kafka's other novels and it may have you chuckling and cheering for Karl on his journey. It did me.

What happens to Karl and how exactly does he end up in Oklahoma? You're going to have to read the book to find that out. Oh, and make sure to notice all the "cramped" situations Karl gets stuck in. Very amusing!

Admittedly, Kafka is not an easy read. The Metamorphosis and In the Penal Colony are the two parts of this book I am most familiar with, and I definitely recommend them to interested readers. Both are strangely imaginative stories, sometimes lacking in action, but more than making up for it in depth. I think Kafka's stories are riveting due to the psychological tension he creates, especially in 'Penal Colony'. That particular short story is also an operetta, which I recently saw. To see it acted out is a uniquely disturbing experience. Read on, but brace yourselves.

This is a splendid initiation into the warped imagination of Franz Kafka. In one swoop the reader gets the infamous Freudian "Metamorphosis" as well as some of Kafka's other macabre short stories.

Perhaps the best of these is "In the Penal Colony." It reads like Michel Foucault's "Discipline And Punish" on acid. It is almost like a satire on what Hegel liked to refer to as the "slaughterhouse of history." The story is at once terrifying and grotesquely comical.

The rest of the stories are typical Kafka; perverse but fascinating. For those who have a morose fascination with ghastly world of this author's literary fantasy, this is an exceptional book to begin with.

Said plainly, Kafka was one bizarre man. His Contemplation is not much more than various mental wanderings, but The Metamorphosis and In the Penal Colony make for wonderful short stories. Curl up and read THIS on your dark and stormy night! These are really delicious stories.

I've looked into other translations, and I wasn't pleased ... this one seems far superior. Joachim Neugroschel goes for the most basic, uncluttered, uncomplicated way of interpreting Kafka. One would think that this would make the text thin and anemic, but it really makes all the greater impact: "One morning, upon awakening from agitated dreams, Gregor Samsa found himself, in his bed, transformed into a monstrous vermin." Other translations seem to wander, and find larger, more complicated ways of saying "agitated dreams" or "monstrous vermin." Even though I wish I knew German, I find this English translation of a very high quality.

Franz Kafka is a true genius, there is no other way to put it. The stories are very powerful and "intoxicating" is the oly way I can put it. This book would have gotten a 6, only for the fact that the book lacked more stories and better translating; this is the publisher's fault. This book is a great one to start with for people just picking up on Kafka's works.