I think, I believe, some of the most perfect fables I’ve ever read are from Kafka. One of them, brief and complete as a new and fine silver ring, is about a mouse running across convergent walls; as a sort of big and heavy trap bigger than the existence and substance of every being on the world. Just running without meaning because life is just like that…
It sounds threatening. I don’t want to ruin it telling with my words the argument of so beautiful text, I’ll just say that the revelation in it sounds like the things we secretly know are an intimate truth.
Advertisements
La verdad es una moneda en el aire. Nadie sabe lo que sabe, hasta que lo sabe. (“Cantinfleando” un poco).
Abrazo!
Pero la mayor de las veces hasta que lo pierde XD!. Gracias, Lis :-)
No hay de qué, Rei. :) Las gracias son para ti.
excellent post, amigo… Kafka has been a genius! have you also read Ionesco and Beckett?…
Thanks a lot, Mélanie :-) I always learn something new (sometimes exotic, always beautiful) from you. I didn’t know to Eugène Ionesco. I am going to search his oeuvre. It seems similar to you for what I read in Wikipedia, a heart part Romanian and part French. Similar to everybody here in America (or South America as US people prefer) where we have a native heart and an European heart. Sadly I’ve heard about Samuel Beckett but I’ve not read him. A bit because I have a preference for XIX century and classic literature. My favorite books (in literature) are the Divine Comedy (that I read since child as an exploration fantastic travel) and the complete works of Borges.
From France I like so much Victor Hugo, the diary of Léon Bloy and Guy de Maupassant’s tales.