Too much Kafka kills Kafka? Is it worth re-visiting this hall of mirrors, the Versailles palace of existential nothingness, which so many have seen? Here are the new Pleiadized volumes of his diaries and Correspondence, which were devoted to the novels by the central European master. The first surprise is that Jean-Pierre Lefebvre (the architect of this edition) does not possess the characteristics of a CBD sniffer. However, the bible paper has virtues that he has inhaled far too often. He reorganizes Kafkaesque corpus, applying semi-chronological rules that will unquestionably take your breath away.
It is a way to mix everything: newspapers, letters, recipients, themes, and even newspapers. In previous editions, there were the "Letters To Milena" as well as the "Letters To Felice". These two correspondents are the source of two unattainable loves. This edition reshuffles cards and the "Journal", a type of notebook in which Kafka throws pell mell ideas of fiction, first drafts and various thoughts and facts of each day, is now scattered in the four corners according to the dictates of this tyrannical chronology, which may be a bit too easy at the helm.
It's to make reading these corpuses more difficult and almost disturbing, but perhaps it is also to awaken their fatal beauty. Specialists will appreciate. The novelty of the text, its sacredness and demonic currentity, is not lost. What is the "Letter to God"? It is Ukraine, however, that sends Putin his way. This "Journal" is not Azovstal with its underground, bunkered galleries. We wander around there with a torch that doesn't illuminate anything. We hear the gentleman's voice, his cries and complaints (Kafka was described by one of his loved women).
Casings are found on the ground. They were ejected from the Kalashnikovs of the "Trial", or the "Castle" to make them look more real. Photos: These photos are found in the rubble. They will be discovered in Stephane Pesnel's beautiful "Album Kafka". Kafka, with an "unidentified man" on a German beach in Jul 1914. One month later, Germany declared war against Russia. Kafka goes to the pool with the famous phrase.
