2008-09-08 A frustratingly pseudo-Kakfaesque review?

I came to read Kafka much later than I expected. And for reasons only half-known to myself I wrote my review even later. By then it seemed that there was no need for another review. And yet here is a review, which I find myself writing.

It is an irony that Kafka, once unknown, was considered SUCH a great literary figure by the time I came to know of him -- so much so that I expected to be disappointed with his work. And yet when I read it, I found it to be a work about disappointment!

One of the other reviewers may be correct in saying that the "Emperor has no clothes!". Yet how fine are his imaginary silks! Therein, for me, lies the genius of this novel. It never bluntly says "Look! Naked Emperor!"; instead it describes the imaginary silks with such artistic finesse that one is not quite sure if they are imaginary or not.

If this review made no sense to you, it is because I am not as great a writer as Kafka. But then that is a given, since I am merely a Reviewer and then not even one appointed as such.

Read the book and you might understand. Frustrating, no? It was for me! (Edited 6 times.)