Kafka: The Man
KAFKA: THE MAN I.GETTING STARTED The stars were blinking. An aeroplane, viewed from the dimly lit sitting room of my flat on Singapore’s East Coast, descended gracefully to Changi Airport. I was at peace with myself but looked intently at The Trial by Franz Kafka. As often before, I had difficulty in reconciling the man with the writer. For just a moment I closed my eyes. When I opened them, Theophil was sitting on a chair facing mine. Nowadays, when he revealed himself to me, he usually assumed the form of Peppi: my late father’s bosom pal, who befriended me after I had stumbled into his antiques shop in London. On other occasions, Theophil adopted his medieval appearance of Satan or Asmodeus – the guise known in the three monotheistic religions. I had got used to this image for years and did not feel ...