Franz Kafka spent most of his external life in a closed circuit of activity: at the office, at home in his little room at his parent's apartment, at the spa for various treatments of his ailments (real and imagined), and the occasional attendance at some lecture or literary salon. His life was not much different than ones we lead today: work, home, a movie, struggles with dating and family. He rarely traveled beyond Vienna or Berlin, and seemed to wind up at a spa to treat his poor health. Most of his time was spent at the activity you would expect from one of the 20th Century's greatest writers — writing.
Such a life supported an oeuvre that I periodically return to for literary delight and inspiration, but as the subject of a standard biography, it can be a bit tedious. Nicholas Murray's choice to structure Kafka's life in chapters centered on his conflicted relationships with women, while justifiable by the influence they had on his writing, lends a lot to this tedium. Consider the enormous chapter devoted to Felice Bauer, who was a major figure in Kafka's romantic life and literary output, despite her own disinterest in his stories. Five years of Kafka's short life were spent courting the poor woman, breaking off two engagements, through thousands of pages of angst-ridden self-flagellation. Murray makes some of this interesting through linking Kafka's epistolary confessions and musings to his fiction, highlighting themes and character interactions relevant to the turmoil of his relationship with Bauer. And, to be fair, a significant chunk of the work Kafka is best known for was created during this period of his life. Yet after the first year or so of Kafka's masochism, I looked ahead to see how long this chapter would go on, and despaired to find I had another hundred pages to endure. Still I plowed on.
This biography would have benefitted from a greater emphasis on Kafka's intellectual history, his life of the mind, where he spent so much of his time. Murray does an excellent job situating Kafka in his German Jewish community of turn-of-the-century Prague, and when we follow Kafka to salons where he engages with the political, literary, intellectual, and spiritual fads of his day, the story livens up considerably. And Murray's research into Kafka's personal relationships with friends and lovers is always thoughtful, evenhanded, and sensitive; it is a relief to see Felice Bauer treated as a full individual with interests and preferences of her own, with none of the misogyny past scholarship has thrown at her. Yet the repetition of Kafka's complaints, which I have sympathy for, could have been borne better had there been a better balance with his other interests. What did he love about Kleist? Dostoevsky? Nietzsche? How did they inform his writing craft? His themes? Murray does not ignore these questions — and credit is due to his sensitive exploration of Kafka's conflicted relationship with Judaism — but I kept wanting more. There are volumes of scholarship on these questions, so he should not be expected to exhaust himself with it; yet I would have preferred more engagement than the all-t00-brief summaries he skates over.
If you love Kafka, by all means, read this. But don't stop with just this biography. I won't. My next stop will be Reiner Stach's Kafka: The Early Years.