A Note on Kafka's "Before the Law"

Few stories keep me thinking long after I've read them like Franz Kafka's short story "Before the Law." This 639-word vignette has said more to me over the past half-century than have most 639-page books I read. Some people see Kafka's mini masterpiece as a parable about the intractable, onerous nature of our legal system as we flounder though life. But on each of the few dozen occasions I have read it throughout my adulthood, I have been reminded of the power of free will and personal choice. 

I won't summarize such a short story but urge you to read it if you have not and to reread it if you have. Whenever I have made a life-changing decision, such as getting married, bringing a child into the world, buying a house, pursuing a doctorate, or starting a new career, I tell myself that the message of "Before the Law" is that fear in the face of action is inevitable, that I must act in spite of my fear of the unknown, that living with the consequences of inaction is far more painfully enduring than acting decisively. In other words, I do not want to wait my entire life for gaining entry into "the law," as does the man from the country in the story. That's a lot of message! See what I mean for yourself: read "Before the Law," an amazingly haunting yet existentially challenging tale. We can talk about this work of art all day.

REVIEW: You or I?: Jon Fosse's "I Am the Wind"

Two men, The One and The Other, are all alone on an empty stage. We assume they are on a small boat. They possess no usual names, do not share their history, and do not discuss their past. We see them eat and drink and talk, or at least attempt to talk, and we soon realize they are deeply rooted to each other. The One, who is an expert sailor, wants to push out to sea just as an ominous storm emerges; The Other, who is less experienced at sea but remains on the boat against his suspicions, implores The One to remain ashore. Clearly, The One's suicide is imminent, but we are bereft of a reason or the outcome for The Other. We are also uncertain about the characters' relationship to one another because their use of language is so limited and their attempt at communication so futile. We may even wonder whether these two men are actually one person or many.

I Am the Wind, an hourlong play by Jon Fosse, has been staged throughout Europe and in New York to mixed reviews. Regardless of how viewers or readers feel about this story, they will experience the power of silence and the senselessness of language. Fosse concedes in his 2023 Nobel Prize lecture, aptly titled "A Silent Language," that suicide is pervasive in his work, but he also concludes that writing can save lives. This play, more like a meditation, may well be the author's attempt to understand how we seek one another, relate to each other, and, in spite of ourselves, become one another. 

On Rereading a Beloved Story

I recently reread Franz Kafka's novella "The Metamorphosis" after more than a half century. I read it for the first time as a college student. At that time, I was just a beginner, learning about the vast world of literature. I saw the story as a tale of ostracism and isolation, which resonated with a 20-year-old loner feeling, well, ostracized and isolated. 

A lot of life experience has passed over these past five decades. Now I see "The Metamorphosis" as an allegory of the transactional basis of familial relationships and the relative nature of moral obligations. Gregor Samsa, the man who in the first sentence of the story becomes a gigantic insect or horrible vermin, depending on whose translation you read, has what seems to be a simple relationship with society and his family. He works as a traveling salesman and lives with his parents and younger sister. Gregor is the breadwinner, as his father, a failed businessman, and mother are too incapacitated to work, and his sister is too young to earn income.

A family lie escaped me the first time I read the story. Months into Gregor's transformation, all three family members find employment to continue the lifestyle that Gregor afforded them. Thus, Gregor had little need to support his family, even though his salary was greater than theirs collectively. 

During this reading, I was struck by how Gregor became not only someone to hide from the rest of the world but a thing of deliberate neglect. As a 20-year-old, I was so absorbed in Gregor's problems that I did not consider how his family members began deserting him in his small bedroom. His endearing sister Grete, who quickly became his caretaker once he suffered his metamorphosis, gradually abandoned him. as did their parents, hastening his demise. Gregor could not speak like a human. He climbed the walls and ceiling of his bedroom. He was in the eyes of his family no longer Gregor, no longer human. Once people are convinced that someone else is even a shred less than human, there's no limit to the harm they can inflict on them.

I can say much more about my new insights into failed communication, societal expectations, and self-abnegation, all additional themes of "The Metamorphosis"; however, enough said to encourage you to read a beloved book from your youth. See what it means to you today. 

Travel Tips for Serious Communicators, Part 6: Why Go?

In this concluding post on travel tips for serious communicators, I refer to previous posts in WORDS ON THE LINE throughout the past 13 years. I have often returned here to the benefits of traveling for writers.

In 2012, I wrote about getting bitten by the writing bug by traveling. I mentioned my penchant for visiting writers' houses, including Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's in Cambridge, Massachusetts; William Shakespeare's in Stratford-upon-Avon, England; Nikos Kazantzakis's in Myrtia, Crete; John Keats's in Rome, Italy; and Carl Sandburg's in Flat Rock, North Carolina. I have since visited Ernest Hemingway's in Key West, Florida; Eugene O'Neill's in Danville, California; August Wilson's in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania; August Strindberg's in Stockholm, Sweden; and Henrik Ibsen's in Oslo Norway. You can get a lot of inspiration and ideas in these places.

In 2017, I mentioned that travel is something writers do. Travel could mean just heading out to a different part of your immediate environment with a conscious effort to experience differences, to observe.

In 2024, I described the value of travel for the workplace writer, explaining that these tips apply not only to so-called creative writers, but to business and technical writers as well.

Earlier this year, I noted the tools of the traveling writer. Find the ways and means to facilitate your writing and do it.

So these posts are the who, what, when, where, and how of travel, and this post is the why. Safe and meaningful travels to you.

Travel Tips for Serious Communicators, Part 5: Where to See

The answer to the question, "Where to see?" is "Everywhere," of course. But if you walk nearly 200 miles through city streets over 22 days to get to various destinations and experience them, you must use your blinders sometimes. Nevertheless, you should see some places with your eyes and other senses wide open.

Toilets

Biological necessity determines our need to go to a restroom. Wherever I went during my trip to Stockholm, Helsinki, Tallinn, Copenhagen, Bergen, and Oslo, the toilets and sinks and floors were immaculate. The quality of a restroom says a lot about a culture. For instance, you'd better bring your own toilet paper to Cuba because it is in short supply, which underscores the neediness of its people, clearly due to United States-imposed sanctions. I am ashamed that so many restrooms in my native city, New York, are filthy. How can this fact not tell you that New Yorkers don't really care about your hygienic safety? You can say all you want that a city of more than 8 million people is far more difficult to manage than Scandinavian cities. That's like saying you shouldn't play tennis or golf because you can't play as well as Scottie Scheffler or Janik Sinner. 

If you think that toilets are not worth mentioning, go to the Bryant Park restroom, abutting the main branch of the New York Public Library in Manhattan. That restroom is so famous that it has a Wikipedia page. The line to get in it is often very long, and I doubt people feel it's worth the wait for its Beaux Arts design. It's because they know they can relieve themselves in a sanitary spot.

Airports

Airports also speak volumes about a culture. If a terminal has few phone charging stations, we assume they are antiquated. If intercom announcements or arrival and departure boards are unclear, you can assume you'll have a chaotic experience. If you see croissants, cinnamon buns, and bread freshly baked on the airport premises, then you know people pride themselves on their food. If you accidentally walk into a restricted area, as I did, and see that the enforcer treats you respectfully, then you will see people in that country value you as a human being. Oh, and what I already said about restrooms applies to airport restrooms too. I found them spotless and well supplied throughout the Nordic regions

Central Stations

I stayed within a short walk from five central stations to my hotel. I am proud of Grand Central Station, as all my visiting relatives ask me to take them there during their trips to the United States. Someone is always available to help orient travelers at Grand Central, which underscores Metro-North Railroad's and Long Island Rail Road's commitment to customer service. I can say the same for some, but not all, of the central stations I visited in Northern Europe. All of them expect customers to use their phones, get the apps, read timetables, and identify track numbers, proving that these cities expect customers to be tech savvy. 

Prices

The cost of items also says a lot about where you are. Compared to major American cities, I saw a consistent trend throughout all these cities: quality hotels are less expensive, entertainment is on par or a bit less expensive, and food is more expensive. What does this say? That hotels are competitive and a lot of food is imported from faraway regions. And while entertainment, such as museums, sporting events, and concerts, by their nature attract fewer people than do their American counterparts, which should drive prices higher but do not, they are better subsidized by the government.

Gardens

Yes. I mean it. Flowers look the same as America's in these countries, but they are infinitely more abundant wherever you go in Scandinavian cities. In front of restaurants, along walkways, across waterfronts, outside apartment windows. You can assume from this fact that the aesthetic of the people  and pride in their appearance surpasses America's. Exceptions may apply. For instance, the last time I saw Atlanta, it was a veritable garden city. And there may be abundant reasons why America's cities do not invest in beauty. But I must concede: It is what it is.

So many other places to see in what being in a foreign place tells you. The way people dress, how young people address elders, the food that's served, the number of benches in a public park, the efficiency of countdown clocks at bus stops, the historically preserved sections of town, and much more. You can learn so much about others and yourself without ever saying a word. Just see.

Travel Tips for Serious Communicators, Part 4: How to Listen

The value of dialogue

At the Nobel Peace Center in Oslo, the city that awards the Nobel Peace Prize, an exhibit captured my attention. It concerned the value of dialogue and listening. Throughout my travels, work career, and conversations with family and friends, I have met many people who were artful speakers but few who are polished listeners. Yet one of the greatest barriers to peaceful relationships is our ability to listen without an agenda, without presuming, without judging, without advising.

Through true listening as described at the Nobel Peace Center, we can achieve harmony, empathy, and real progress. I'm not talking about the progress that advantages some and disadvanatages others, that further enriches the wealthy and disenfranchises the working class.

I won't offer tips in this post because the illustrations from the Center do just that with sufficient clarity and concision. I will say, however, that the world needs a lot of help in learning how to listen, that I am striving to be a better listener, that we learn more from listening than from speaking, and that listening is a critical component to human survival. Listening is especially useful when you are a visitor in a foreign country, a guest in someone's home, a student in someone's class, a congregant in a house of worship, an audience member during a presentation, or most important, a friend to someone needing to be heard. 

Listening in dialogue

Travel Tips for Serious Communicators, Part 3: When to Bend

Knowing the difference between kronos time (measurable) and kairos time (qualitative) can be beneficial in understanding dialogue and flow invaluable theories in gaining insights into how we can live an optimal life. Building on kronos and kairos, my friend and mentor Barrett Mandel taught me there are two types of time management: creative planning, arranging your life activities for when you would like them to happen; and reactive scheduling, dealing with things as they pop up. While creative planning demands a structured approach to life, reactive scheduling demands a strong capacity for bending. Managing both of these types of situations can be life-changing.

For an example, on June 19, 1974, as a 20-year-old American university student from New York City, I was in Malmö, Sweden, on Day 9 of a 10-nation, 80-day tour as planned. I went to the Bohemian Jazz Club, as planned. I got there by midday to get tickets in advance of that evening's show. The door was wide open. Inside I found no one but a tall, white Swedish woman cleaning the bar and a black man sweeping the floor. The place looked hip with a small bandstand in the corner of the room and couches and tables scattered throughout. 

The woman asked, "May I help you?" 

"Yeah, I wanna see the show tonight," I answered.

"Sorry, there is no show tonight," she said.

"Oh," I said, clearly disappointed. So much for creative planning; I had to reactively schedule that evening.  

The black man stopped sweeping the floor and asked, "Yo, you from the Bronx?" Not only did he peg by nationality but pinpointed my residence.

"Yeah," I said.

"So am I," he said, extending his hand, which I grasped. He could tell what I was thinking: What was he doing there? Pointing to the woman, he said, "I visited here a few years back, met her, and never went back. This is our club." He introduced me to his woman and to his massive collection of jazz records. The three of us talked for a good half hour about jazz, education, and differences in racial, cultural, social, economic, and jurisprudence perspectives between the United States and Sweden. My disappointment quickly faded. Most memorably, Clarence recommended I go to the Montreux Jazz Festival. 

Thanks to this serendipitous meeting, I dropped from my perfectly planned schedule cities like Zurich and Vienna, which I'm sure would have been great, and went to this picturesque Swiss village from June 30 to July 7 to attend more than a dozen concerts, featuring artists like Sonny Rollins, Slide Hampton, Thad Jones-Mel Lewis Big Band, Earl Hines, Jay McShann, Roland Hanna, Randy Weston, Didi Bridgewater, Lew Soloff, Charles Earland, Ron Carter, Randy Brecker, Michael Brecker, Airto Moreira, Flora Purim, Milton Nascimento, Jon Faddis, Billy Cobham, and many others. These experiences led me over the next 50 years to discovering more about the jazz world and enjoying arguably America's greatest cultural gift to the world.  

I've said somewhere else in this blog, more than 20 years in the running, that we need to plan as if we were going to live forever but live like we have only the next moment. That requires bending, especially when traveling to places where every moment is a new experience.