While we're on the subject of Kafka, always one of my favorite subjects, what happens when your fear of the underground, or what's inside you, comes up and bites you when you're not expecting it? This is, of course, what happens in his novel, The Trial.
Someone must have been telling lies about Joseph K., for without having done anything wrong he was arrested one fine morning.(Franz Kafka, The Trial. New York: Schocken Books, 1992, p. 1.)In an absolutely brilliant opening sentence Kafka establishes a 3rd person limited point of view, creates intrigue ("someone must have been telling lies...").
And then he's arrested. By whom? On what authority? We want to find out so we read on.
And why? Did he do something wrong? Were they telling lies? The narrator said "must have."
It also exploits our indignation at being manipulated by authority figures and helps us feel sympathy with Joseph K. K. is us and we are him. He has been abused by these so far unknown individuals who have broken into his private living space to arrest him. And for what? What could be so important it couldn't wait at least until he got up.
A whole world in one sentence. Will he be convicted or will it go away? We don't know. A tremendous sense of anticipation generated by this one sentence.
What do you think about this? Can we talk about writing here? Post a comment.
Writing is, to me, an entrepreneurial activity. Entrepreneurial ideas are the life's blood of my writing. For my entrepreneurial course, Entrepreneurship on Line, go to www.hatman2.blogspot.com. For entrepreneurial real estate to www.yourstopforrealestate.com/blog
Ian Kearney, the director of the Kearney Music School, an elite musical training school in Philadelphia, dies after a fall from a balcony during a recital. World-famous cellist, Henry Harrier, recently forced from the faculty, returns to investigate Ian's death when his prized former student is arrested. Henry shows through his brilliant and single-minded pursuit of the truth that, as usual, they have it all wrong. This Sherlock Holmes-type mystery leads the reader through the world of classical music and lays bare the conflicts which dominate the lives of talented adolescents when placed under the pressure of studying for a demanding, stressful, and often elusive career as a classical music performer. Henry Harrier is part John Le Carre's George Smiley, part Arthur Conan Doyle's Holmes, and part Orlando Cole the beloved teacher, renowned chamber musician, and until his own retirement, the premier cellist of the Curtis Institute.
Tim was born in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, on January 30, 1946. In 1951 he moved with his family to Schenectady, New York, where he lived through high school. He attended Baldwin-Wallace College, Berea, Ohio, from 1964 to 1968. He graduated in 1968 with a B.A. in history and philosophy. He received his Ph. D. in history in U.S. history in 1980 from the University of Wisconsin-Madison after spending 2.5 years in the U. S. Army. Most of his army service was completed in Wuerzburg, Germany, from 1969-1971. In 1972 he returned to Madison to complete his doctoral study. His dissertation, Those Who Moved; Internal Migrants in American 1607-1840, combined the statistical analysis of genealogical and biographical data with the study of traditional literary diaries, letters, and journals.
