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Kafka Americana: Fiction
Previously published only in a signed, limited edition, Kafka Americana has achieved cult status. Norton now brings this reimagination of our labyrinthine world to a wider audience. In an act of literary appropriation, Lethem and Scholz seize a helpless Kafka by the lapels and thrust him into the cultural wreckage of twentieth-century America. In the collaboratively written "Receding Horizon," Hollywood welcomes Kafka as scriptwriter for Frank Capra's It's a Wonderful Life, with appropriately morbid results. Scholz's "The Amount to Carry" transports "the legal secretary of the Workman's Accident Insurance Institute" to a conference with fellow insurance executives Wallace Stevens and Charles Ives, to muse on what can and can't be insured. And Lethem's "K for Fake" brings together Orson Welles, Jerry Lewis, and Rod Serling in a kangaroo trial in which Kafka faces fraudulent charges. Taking modernism's presiding genius for a joyride, the authors portray an absurd, ominous world that Kafka might have invented but could never have survived.
100 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1999
6 people are currently reading
234 people want to read
About the author
Jonathan Lethem
236 books2,657 followersJonathan Allen Lethem (born February 19, 1964) is an American novelist, essayist and short story writer.
His first novel, Gun, with Occasional Music, a genre work that mixed elements of science fiction and detective fiction, was published in 1994. It was followed by three more science fiction novels. In 1999, Lethem published Motherless Brooklyn, a National Book Critics Circle Award-winning novel that achieved mainstream success. In 2003, he published The Fortress of Solitude, which became a New York Times Best Seller.
In 2005, he received a MacArthur Fellowship
His first novel, Gun, with Occasional Music, a genre work that mixed elements of science fiction and detective fiction, was published in 1994. It was followed by three more science fiction novels. In 1999, Lethem published Motherless Brooklyn, a National Book Critics Circle Award-winning novel that achieved mainstream success. In 2003, he published The Fortress of Solitude, which became a New York Times Best Seller.
In 2005, he received a MacArthur Fellowship
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Displaying 1 - 25 of 25 reviews
December 6, 2022
Kafka Americana is a tribute to author Franz Kafka, a collection of Kafkaesque short stories by Jonathan Lethem and Carter Scholz. In most or all of these stories Kafka is himself one of the characters. Overall I thought these were very well-written, though they were a bit strange and hard to decipher at times. The content of the stories varies quite a bit, with one involving Batman and another involving a labyrinthine hotel, for instance. I feel like I would have enjoyed this more if I was a huge Kafka fan, but I've only read The Metamorphosis so far, and though I enjoyed it, it's not one of my favourites. I definitely recommend this if you're a Kafka fan or if a nicely-written, surrealist short story collection is something that interests you.
My ratings for each story and the book as a whole are below:
Blumfeld, an Elderly Bachelor: 3/5
The Notebooks of Bob K.: 2/5
Receding Horizon: 3.5/5
The Amount to Carry: 3/5
K for Fake: 3/5
= 14.5 / 25 = 58% = 2.9 stars
My ratings for each story and the book as a whole are below:
Blumfeld, an Elderly Bachelor: 3/5
The Notebooks of Bob K.: 2/5
Receding Horizon: 3.5/5
The Amount to Carry: 3/5
K for Fake: 3/5
= 14.5 / 25 = 58% = 2.9 stars
January 16, 2024
Carter Scholz and Jonathan Lethem have managed to collaborate on this truly weird short story collection that poses the question, how do you manage to incorporate the strangeness of Kafka into 20th century pop culture?
They both manage to squeeze Kafka in some absurdist moments that take place mostly during the golden age of Hollywood: working with Frank Capra, Moss Hart, allusions to Its a Wonderful Life, Jimmy Stewart, Gary Cooper all make a twisty appearance in this lethal little novella, "but something stranger, as though some other reality, hiding between the frames, is asserting itself" (Scholz and Lethem 40).
Incorporating Kafka with Superheroes such as Batman and other comic characters is vintage Lethem, but somehow the absurdist humor gets lost in the very deliberate and faithful tribute to Kafka's surreal world.
They both manage to squeeze Kafka in some absurdist moments that take place mostly during the golden age of Hollywood: working with Frank Capra, Moss Hart, allusions to Its a Wonderful Life, Jimmy Stewart, Gary Cooper all make a twisty appearance in this lethal little novella, "but something stranger, as though some other reality, hiding between the frames, is asserting itself" (Scholz and Lethem 40).
Incorporating Kafka with Superheroes such as Batman and other comic characters is vintage Lethem, but somehow the absurdist humor gets lost in the very deliberate and faithful tribute to Kafka's surreal world.
January 5, 2023
In my very late teens, I spent four months acting as chauffeur for my mother's mother, who was finalizing her elaborate act of denying the late stages of early-onset Alzheimer's. At least once a week she would go to the local library, located less than a half a mile from her home of 50 years. Two years after these events, that library—the Robert E. Smith regional—would have its collections decimated and deluged after Katrina (or the US Armed forces or a private paramilitary group or simple neglect or fate) broke the levees and flooded the city. The four months in question were the tail-end of the hurricane season. Katrina's older brother, Ivan, considered hitting the Big Easy after a round in the Gulf, but luckily for us, went for the smaller-yet-easier to wreck Mobile. The inevitability of destruction coupled with the dumb luck that saved New Orleans was infectious, leading many to stay put a little longer, laugh a little longer at suggestions to "prepare for a storm" by any means other than finding an extra bottle or book or body to hold. For my grandmother, it was simply God's will: she never evacuated from a storm in her life, not even for Betsy, the terror of 1956. She certainly was not about to do so now that her husband spent most of his days in a hospital bed beside five feet from her breakfast table. She'd sooner have him driven to go vote (which we did do, he and I, much to her chagrin as she fought in every way possible to deny his vote for John Kerry).
Point being, just prior to Ivan's turn to Mobile, when New Orleans was dragging its heels in the muddy waters of the Mississippi about when to close its public services early due to the very real possibility of total destruction from what was at the time the biggest storm to enter the Gulf of Mexico, my grandmother wanted to get new books from her library and then go to Robert's to make groceries. I drove her through the empty roads, stopping at three different gas stations before getting only half a tank and then to pick up masking tape for the windows (more for the appearance of preparation than actual safekeeping, I had been told by many that taping windows does nothing whatsoever but I didn't care, I was nineteen years young and reveling in the risk of civic catastrophe, revealing only my unfashionable pretensions and impudence.)
At the library, my grandmother wept quietly, having forgotten the little black book in which she made note of books she's read. I ended up helping her find a few authors I knew she liked, some of the titles she had tried before, some she'd finished, some were new. I was a shitty grandson. Before attending to her distress, I went straight to the librarian-in-training whom I had been crushing on for the past two months. She did not want to talk to me. Not only had my attempts to woo her long since fizzled, she was in a state of panic due to the imminent landfall of Ivan. Quickly I spied a copy of Kafka Amerikana on the reshelving cart. I had returned the limited edition, numbered, double-signed copy of these short stories based upon both the works of Franz Kafka and late 20th century American culture a mere two days prior. And still, the book was not yet returned to the shelf! The travesty! What if I wanted to recheck out the book? I knew enough of this particular library's practices that a book may not be checked out again until it was manually entered back into the database and returned to the shelf. A book taken from the reshelving cart by a patron and brought to the front counter will result in an error message, stating that the book is not yet back "in circulation". And that is precisely what I chose to do, wanting only to exacerbate the anxiety of my the object of my affection. Once she realized I had knowingly and impishly selected a book that was not available for the taking (due to my having returned said book just two days prior) she began cursing me under her breath, stating that New Orleans would surely sink and that there was no hope as the young men of the city were not worth saving due to their dedications to futility and lust. At this point I chided the librarian-in-training that I should be allowed to simply steal the book. She reminded me, not for the first time since I have known her, that doing so would result in an alarm sounding off. I countered that she could do us both a favor and remove the book from circulation entirely, deleting it from the library's system entirely so that I may keep it for my self to read during the impending storm. Bewildered and beseiged, the object of my crush did exactly that. She removed the book from the New Orleans Public Library system and shook her head. Her friend and coworker saw the exchange, checking me out as she checked out the books I planned to return. I brought my now-weeping grandmother to the checkout desk, careful to conceal my holdings. Grandmother checked out. Ivan went to Mobile. I got drunk and thought about the librarian-in-training, who had evacuated with her boyfriend, and carelessly left the rare first edition on the floor. The dust jacket's plastic covering protected it from my red wine when I finally passed out, after an aimless jaunt through the empty city, complete with a free ride in a streetcar (one-way, alas).
Two weeks later, Jonathan Lethem came to New Orleans to read from his then-newest novel, Fortress of Solitude. I presented to Mr. Lethem a few used copies of his works I had collected and enjoyed. I also brought to him a just-purchased copy of his newest work. In the middle of the used books, I snuck in the stolen tome. He was aghast at the sight of it, stating firstly that he could not sign it, as it was already signed by him! This refusal incited an immediate and infinite barrage of questions regarding identity and authenticity and the Law and reputation and repetition. Kafka would have smiled, or perhaps smacked Max Brod for burning his works (incidentally, I did ask Mr. Lethem about that posthumous-publication legend and he assured me that Kafka did not at all wish for his lifeworks to be destroyed by fire, as "no true artist would ever want that, and Kafka was a true artist" (paraphrased from memory)) so Lethem was already aware that I was a trouble maker, as I expressed dissatisfaction with his dismissal of the legend. I heckled him.
He would not sign the book, not again. He offered a limp rationale that the book was the property of the parish and that the Robert E. Smith Regional library might not want a second signature of his on their copy. I explained to him how I had saved the book from Ivan, due to it having been once the property of the library. And that as the new owner of the book, I did indeed want this book signed again. The owner of the bookstore where the signing was taking place began to step in, stating that she had friends in the library who would be outraged to find their holdings being stolen. She wanted to know how I did it. Being a true moron, I stated that I had a friend on the inside. The bookstore owner grabbed the copy from Mr. Lethem, who seemed relieved to no longer be holding the book he had once signed so many years ago, when he signed 500 of the damned things in one go. I grabbed the book from her, then took my stack of used Lethem books. I left the Fortress of Solitude. It was paid for, but it was too hefty and I did not wish to be encumbered any further. Quickly I made my way out and back to the safety of a nearby cafe, where I telephoned my aunt to rescue me. She seemed surprised that the reading was done so quickly.
Two weeks later, the librarian-in-training is removed from the staff of the Smith Regional. She begins sending me hateful messages via text and livejournal, cursing me for causing her to waste two years of her life and thousands of dollars on library school.
Two years later, Hurricane Katrina destroys most of the books in the Smith Regional, along with myriad homes—the one that was my grandmother's among those left in soggy ruins.
Nine years after that, I brought that same book back to New Orleans, with the intention of leaving it in the book depository. Having only scant time in the city, I chose to "forget" to do the right thing. The following summer, I mailed the book to the central library of New Orleans. Signature confirmation requested & no return address.
original review: Some of the pieces are stronger than others. It's a cute concept of a book, worth seeking out if you like Kafka or Lethem (chances are if you really like one, you'll like the other).
Point being, just prior to Ivan's turn to Mobile, when New Orleans was dragging its heels in the muddy waters of the Mississippi about when to close its public services early due to the very real possibility of total destruction from what was at the time the biggest storm to enter the Gulf of Mexico, my grandmother wanted to get new books from her library and then go to Robert's to make groceries. I drove her through the empty roads, stopping at three different gas stations before getting only half a tank and then to pick up masking tape for the windows (more for the appearance of preparation than actual safekeeping, I had been told by many that taping windows does nothing whatsoever but I didn't care, I was nineteen years young and reveling in the risk of civic catastrophe, revealing only my unfashionable pretensions and impudence.)
At the library, my grandmother wept quietly, having forgotten the little black book in which she made note of books she's read. I ended up helping her find a few authors I knew she liked, some of the titles she had tried before, some she'd finished, some were new. I was a shitty grandson. Before attending to her distress, I went straight to the librarian-in-training whom I had been crushing on for the past two months. She did not want to talk to me. Not only had my attempts to woo her long since fizzled, she was in a state of panic due to the imminent landfall of Ivan. Quickly I spied a copy of Kafka Amerikana on the reshelving cart. I had returned the limited edition, numbered, double-signed copy of these short stories based upon both the works of Franz Kafka and late 20th century American culture a mere two days prior. And still, the book was not yet returned to the shelf! The travesty! What if I wanted to recheck out the book? I knew enough of this particular library's practices that a book may not be checked out again until it was manually entered back into the database and returned to the shelf. A book taken from the reshelving cart by a patron and brought to the front counter will result in an error message, stating that the book is not yet back "in circulation". And that is precisely what I chose to do, wanting only to exacerbate the anxiety of my the object of my affection. Once she realized I had knowingly and impishly selected a book that was not available for the taking (due to my having returned said book just two days prior) she began cursing me under her breath, stating that New Orleans would surely sink and that there was no hope as the young men of the city were not worth saving due to their dedications to futility and lust. At this point I chided the librarian-in-training that I should be allowed to simply steal the book. She reminded me, not for the first time since I have known her, that doing so would result in an alarm sounding off. I countered that she could do us both a favor and remove the book from circulation entirely, deleting it from the library's system entirely so that I may keep it for my self to read during the impending storm. Bewildered and beseiged, the object of my crush did exactly that. She removed the book from the New Orleans Public Library system and shook her head. Her friend and coworker saw the exchange, checking me out as she checked out the books I planned to return. I brought my now-weeping grandmother to the checkout desk, careful to conceal my holdings. Grandmother checked out. Ivan went to Mobile. I got drunk and thought about the librarian-in-training, who had evacuated with her boyfriend, and carelessly left the rare first edition on the floor. The dust jacket's plastic covering protected it from my red wine when I finally passed out, after an aimless jaunt through the empty city, complete with a free ride in a streetcar (one-way, alas).
Two weeks later, Jonathan Lethem came to New Orleans to read from his then-newest novel, Fortress of Solitude. I presented to Mr. Lethem a few used copies of his works I had collected and enjoyed. I also brought to him a just-purchased copy of his newest work. In the middle of the used books, I snuck in the stolen tome. He was aghast at the sight of it, stating firstly that he could not sign it, as it was already signed by him! This refusal incited an immediate and infinite barrage of questions regarding identity and authenticity and the Law and reputation and repetition. Kafka would have smiled, or perhaps smacked Max Brod for burning his works (incidentally, I did ask Mr. Lethem about that posthumous-publication legend and he assured me that Kafka did not at all wish for his lifeworks to be destroyed by fire, as "no true artist would ever want that, and Kafka was a true artist" (paraphrased from memory)) so Lethem was already aware that I was a trouble maker, as I expressed dissatisfaction with his dismissal of the legend. I heckled him.
He would not sign the book, not again. He offered a limp rationale that the book was the property of the parish and that the Robert E. Smith Regional library might not want a second signature of his on their copy. I explained to him how I had saved the book from Ivan, due to it having been once the property of the library. And that as the new owner of the book, I did indeed want this book signed again. The owner of the bookstore where the signing was taking place began to step in, stating that she had friends in the library who would be outraged to find their holdings being stolen. She wanted to know how I did it. Being a true moron, I stated that I had a friend on the inside. The bookstore owner grabbed the copy from Mr. Lethem, who seemed relieved to no longer be holding the book he had once signed so many years ago, when he signed 500 of the damned things in one go. I grabbed the book from her, then took my stack of used Lethem books. I left the Fortress of Solitude. It was paid for, but it was too hefty and I did not wish to be encumbered any further. Quickly I made my way out and back to the safety of a nearby cafe, where I telephoned my aunt to rescue me. She seemed surprised that the reading was done so quickly.
Two weeks later, the librarian-in-training is removed from the staff of the Smith Regional. She begins sending me hateful messages via text and livejournal, cursing me for causing her to waste two years of her life and thousands of dollars on library school.
Two years later, Hurricane Katrina destroys most of the books in the Smith Regional, along with myriad homes—the one that was my grandmother's among those left in soggy ruins.
Nine years after that, I brought that same book back to New Orleans, with the intention of leaving it in the book depository. Having only scant time in the city, I chose to "forget" to do the right thing. The following summer, I mailed the book to the central library of New Orleans. Signature confirmation requested & no return address.
original review: Some of the pieces are stronger than others. It's a cute concept of a book, worth seeking out if you like Kafka or Lethem (chances are if you really like one, you'll like the other).
June 27, 2013
Strange and frequently beguiling, this collaborative short story collection (two apiece by Lethem and Scholz, one written together) is an intriguing curio. The pieces here range from deliberate cultural mashup (Lethem's 'The Notebooks of Bob K.') to dreamlike intertextual fable (Scholz's 'The Amount to Carry').
The range of reference is extensive - this is (unsuprisingly) best read by those with a reasonable knowledge of Kafka's work. Lethem's 'Notebooks', for example, splices Superhero mythology into Kafka's koan-like parables. Without knowledge of these parables, the story may seem disjointed and slightly pretentious - even with this knowledge, the story is at once overly forthright as a tribute and overly dense as a work in its own right. Scholz's tales, which rapidly ascend from banal realism to elegant fantasy, offer a more nuanced take on Kafka's legacy.
Best of the lot, however, is the jointly-written 'Receding Horizon' - a multi-layered and extraordinarily innovative alternative history, in which Kafka has emigrated to the United States and befriended filmmaker Frank Capra. The mechanisms of the story seem visible from the start, but the way the text intertwines divergent narratives makes these assumed structures change in front of the reader's eyes.
This is a quick read, and a rewarding one. Though by no means a classic (Philip Roth's 'Looking at Kafka' is a more elegant take on a similar range of topics), 'Kafka Americana' is a dizzyingly playful yet thoroughly enjoyable collection.
The range of reference is extensive - this is (unsuprisingly) best read by those with a reasonable knowledge of Kafka's work. Lethem's 'Notebooks', for example, splices Superhero mythology into Kafka's koan-like parables. Without knowledge of these parables, the story may seem disjointed and slightly pretentious - even with this knowledge, the story is at once overly forthright as a tribute and overly dense as a work in its own right. Scholz's tales, which rapidly ascend from banal realism to elegant fantasy, offer a more nuanced take on Kafka's legacy.
Best of the lot, however, is the jointly-written 'Receding Horizon' - a multi-layered and extraordinarily innovative alternative history, in which Kafka has emigrated to the United States and befriended filmmaker Frank Capra. The mechanisms of the story seem visible from the start, but the way the text intertwines divergent narratives makes these assumed structures change in front of the reader's eyes.
This is a quick read, and a rewarding one. Though by no means a classic (Philip Roth's 'Looking at Kafka' is a more elegant take on a similar range of topics), 'Kafka Americana' is a dizzyingly playful yet thoroughly enjoyable collection.
May 4, 2007
the batman story in this is awesome.
January 19, 2014
Gregor Samsa ducked into a phone booth. "This looks," he said, 'like a job for a gigantic insect."
March 15, 2019
Awful.
May 18, 2015
Somewhere it states this book of short stories by two obviously gifted writers has attained "cult status" not unlike "Catch-22." Well, to paraphrase Groucho Marx, "I wouldn't want to join a cult that would have me as a member." Admittedly, having read only one short story by Kafka -- "The Metamorphosis" -- I cannot profess to being well-acquainted with his paranoid inducing style of writing. Thus, something here has gotten lost in the translation. To be sure, both authors are exceptional writers. Perhaps if I were to spend the summer reading Franz Kafka's work, I too will see the humor and genius in this book ... and grudgingly join the club. Until then, I will wave the flag of ignorance and warning and give this book no more than two stars.
June 6, 2007
This is a short and interesting book. It is a collection of five short stories written by two authors (Jonathan Lethem and Carter Scholz) in Kafka's bleak and straightforward style, complete with his darkness and humor. You do not have to be familiar with Kafka to read this, but it will help as many of the characters and situations contained within the book are pulled directly from the author these two are emulating. If you are looking for what Kafka's material might look like if he were writing today then you should check this book out.
May 31, 2013
While not as good as Kafka, Lethem and Scholz's stories take him into the 21st century -- a time that knows of the Holocaust (something the Jewish Kafka did not live to experience), with a heaping dose of wit and a refreshing Kafkaesque sense of the absurd.
What's missing, or rather what I would have liked, would have been some sort of introduction, epilogue, or statement from the writers. Those unfamiliar with Kafka will not get the same enjoyment out of themes that pop up in more than one story.
Still, worth a read, especially for the Kafka aficionado.
What's missing, or rather what I would have liked, would have been some sort of introduction, epilogue, or statement from the writers. Those unfamiliar with Kafka will not get the same enjoyment out of themes that pop up in more than one story.
Still, worth a read, especially for the Kafka aficionado.
December 15, 2011
This book left me torn. There were some brilliant passages, but I think I should have read it slower or with Kafka more present in my mind, or when I was in a better, more playful mood...Anyway, we didn't click the way I hoped we might. Though I will never look at my living room furniture the same way again.
December 18, 2012
The two stories written by Carter Scholz were really a delight, and where the two stars come from. Jonathan Lethem is self-indulgent and far too pleased with himself as a writer (unduly, I would add.) The collaborative story was boring and trite; its attempts at meta-fiction fell woefully short of what I'm sure were very high hopes. Sincerely a disappointing read.
February 22, 2010
So po-mo that it seems a bit quaint now. Some of the pieces work better than the others, of course, but the premise of playing with Kafka is a compelling one that gives the overall collection a compelling momentum.
August 15, 2009
I wanted to love it. (I really like the idea of it.) But I just didn't. I probably would have appreciated it a lot more during my school years when I was obsessed with Kafka. Maybe there'll be time for it again in the future.
Read
August 3, 2011enjoyable excursion... more like ballard without the bite, or kafka without the pathos... but give me stories that include Orson Welles and Rod Serling with Jerry Lewis's long hidden "day the clown cried" and there are enough insider references to rival Dennis Miller in his heyday.
March 6, 2013
A neat idea, writing modern Kafka sendups, and the back cover story summaries made me laugh aloud. Of the five stories, though, I liked the first and last and found the middle three only intermittently amusing.
April 16, 2007
Hilarious!
July 12, 2007
Another post-911 book. Ordered it/bought it from a local "small" book shop in Astoria, after kicking myself for not grabbing a copy whilst at Powell's.
May 14, 2009
This book makes me feel like I am not smart enough to get it. Painfully postmodern.
July 16, 2011
Sometimes a little too "clever" for its own good, but also a lot of fun.
November 30, 2011
I wrote a review of this book and it can be found here:
http://mewlhouse.hubpages.com/_1qsqsu...
http://mewlhouse.hubpages.com/_1qsqsu...
April 12, 2015
I read one story from this book: "Receding Horizon" since it was nominated for a Sidewise award for alternate history. While the premise intrigued me, there was too much Kafka in it for me.
May 1, 2015
This collection was pretty weak. The quality of the last two stories were better, but overall i was underwhelmed.
January 25, 2010
This book...this book spoke to me in riddles and broken up story lines...
October 23, 2014
Really interesting short stories that mixed whimsy and Kafka.
Displaying 1 - 25 of 25 reviews