This was a review of Franz Kafka’s The Trial that I wrote at 15 years of age, reproduced below.
It has everything you can imagine – law, courts, chairs, wood, air, buildings, people, papers, pens, suits, law students, mistresses, dogs, paintings and brushes… even knives. With the exception of one particularly indispensable thing. Sense. In every meaning of the word. Franz Kafka’s The Trial is the original book of philosophy and introspection. It takes readers on a thrilling journey, encompassing the realms of psychology and philosophy, whilst exploring the processes involved in decision-making, all wrapped up around an anomalously thought provoking style of logic with a twist of classical Kafkaesque perspicacity from none other than the man himself, Kafka. The Trial elicits episodes of deep cogitation that oft lead to the emergence of rather esoteric and profound questions that pertain to subjects such as the purpose of life – the things that separate lie from truth – //why// lies are lies – why truths are truths — why others see things differently – how sometimes the strange becomes the ordinary – how enemy becomes friend — how sometimes, the familiar becomes the unfamiliar – how the seemingly coherent becomes incoherent – how everything in your life is actually the complete opposite of what you believe it to be – how you, me, //we// — are part of an //illusion.// Josef K.’s trial may be deemed peculiar by readers… //that book didn’t make sense.// But it’s not until we decipher and decrypt //The Trial// word by word, literally… that we realise how much sense Kafka is actually making.