K. is a man arrested for an unknown crime, gets lost in a surreal, oppressive legal system and increasingly trapped in confusion, helplessness and ‘guilt’.
He gets no love from me.
But as he starts to (over)process everything – questioning, watching people, their glances, tone – he tries to piece together what it all means. Applies meaning because he’s grasping for reason and truth. Overthinking, feeling judged, constantly interpreting everything around him. Wondering who knows what, why someone is looking at you a certain way.
It loops. It was felt.
His uncle – swooping in to help, but –
“Until now you’ve been an honour to us, you can’t now bring shame on us.”
“…and until today I was proud…”
Bit of a condescending dick don’t you think?
The middle pops off. An infuriating chapter, but a forever fave.
The advocate and painter – it was merry-go-round energy (for those who remember). A classic search for clarity which led to only more confusion. Lots of explanation, more structure, none of it helps.
Reading it felt like work. Like you reading this entry, maybe?
And the ‘types’ of acquittal… that was full on aggravating. Simply put, here are all of your options K., and none of them actually do anything for you.
So absurd, so true to bureaucracy. And life.
And everyone talking at him, posturing… telling him what he’s thinking, what he should be doing, what it all means, damn, the man doesn’t even know himself. All positioning, all asserted authority. The trying-not-to-be-obvious-but-oh-so-obvious power plays.
The cathedral – is this where the clarity comes?… nah, same system. Talk of truth, lies, necessity… but nothing to hold onto.
The end – after all that circular build, the contrast hits. Jarring.
What was any of it for? Was it inevitable?
Didn’t even like K. for most of it, but then… empathy? Idk.
“So it’s like that.”
A frustratingly fantastic fairy tale for my first Kafka.
robyn reads books 
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