Happy Franz Kafka

Franz in 1917

Today is the birthday of Franz Kafka. He was born in Prague in 1883. I was able to visit the museum for him there last year. He is an author I have admired since I read that entry story -"Metamorphosis" - of his.  I then went on to read his novels.

The general view of Kafka by most people is he was this sad, lonely, disturbed man. He gets a bad public bio, much like Edgar Allen Poe. Yes, he was unhappy for much of his life, but not for all of it. He had a tyrannical father. He suffered from psychosomatic illnesses. He seems to have anxiety issues. And his stories and novels like "In the Penal Colony” and The Trial encouraged that view of him.

Of course, we should always be careful about seeing a writer's words as autobiographical, though almost every writer does use his life in his work to some degree.

So, I was pleased to hear today's episode of The Writer's Almanac because it included this much more optimistic bio section:

But he was also a productive and well-liked employee at an insurance company and worked tirelessly to prevent workplace accidents in the lumber industry. 

He kept up a rigorous fitness regimen and loved fresh air: “I row, ride, swim, lie in the sun. Therefore my calves are good, my thighs not bad, my belly will pass muster, but my chest is very shabby.” 

And he found love and happiness in the last year of his life, with a woman named Dora Diamant. Even though Kafka was suffering excruciating pain from tuberculosis, Diamant later said, “Everything was done with laughter,” and “Kafka was always cheerful. He liked to play; he was a born playmate, always ready for some fun.”

Here's a toast to Franz in that last year. I wish you were not in physical pain and that love and happiness had started much earlier in your life. Your words live on.

Sculpture of Kafka in Prague