What was Franz Kafka’s philosophy?
Society
Kafka’s short story, “Up in the Gallery,” employs a terse yet purposefully paced style that complements the symbolic intention of his prose. The structural and stylistic effects of Kafka’s work form an integral part of the meaning of the images evoked. The entire story unfolds in two meticulous sentences: the first, a dark and disturbing fantasy which might compel its witness to intervene; the second, a far more wholesome reality which brings the same witness to powerless and ineffectual tears. The genius of his work is not what is said, but rather the inescapable feelings he evokes in the way it is said. Kafka skillfully draws his rapt audience deeper. His two long sentences grab the reader and hold them at close attention until they are done. The reader, captivated by the writing, sways to the tempo of the piece drawn ever deeper, absorbing the meaning of the work.
Kafka, through the use of cadence and diction, creates a tempo that parallels the rise and fall of hope in both the reader and spectator.
The imaginary scenario begins gently; the words themselves are soft in sound and connotation. When the rider is described as a “consumptive equestrienne,” her horse “undulating” beneath her, it is evident that the scene we are witnessing is fragile.
The sickly rider glides around the ring smoothly. Then, the story slowly begins to build in pace and intensity. Terms such as “for months on end,” and “without respite,”extend the gradual increase both in tempo and intensity as they build on each other, providing a sense of continuous movement. Tempo is slow here, yet promising to build. The continuous stream of action extends time and the monotony of the continued action escalates in intensity. When the author writes, “whizzing along on her horse, throwing kisses, swaying from the waist,” he creates movement, increasing the speed with which the sentence must be read.
The word “whizzing” is almost onomatopoetic, sounding and feeling quick as it leaves one’s mouth. The sense of motion magnifies by “throwing” and “swaying,” furthering the intensification in tempo. The pace of his writing increases in conjunction with the connotation that the speed creates. To complement this acceleration, the sound also becomes more intense with “the unceasing roar of the orchestra and hum of the ventilators.”
The use of the word “unceasing” creates a feeling of discomfort as the author again uses his words to extend time and give the feeling that we are building to some climax. Climbing higher, the sounds become almost unbearable: “ebbing and renewed swelling bursts of applause which are really steam hammers,” a metaphor that connotes violence and aggression. Stress builds in both the spectator and reader as the circus becomes more torturous. As his first sentence comes to an end, Kafka injects the suggestion of the spectator being propelled into action, but then he breaks the tension and adjusts the focus of his lens.
With the beginning of the second sentence -“But since that is not so” – the pace is slowed, as the preceding chaos redescribed as the product of a fevered imagination. As the first sentence is halted, so is the stride of the prose. From the peak of movement and tempo, the reader is transitioned into a softer language.
The rider “Floats between the curtains,” as the now caring ringmaster “tenderly lifts her up on the dapple gray,” providing gentle imagery that is conducive to a slower reading. The merciless ringmaster of the first sentence is transformed by the second sentence, now revealed as loving and solicitous. Kafka leads us on an elongated descent with his diction, aiming both at a dampening of sound and a slowing of speed. When the ringmaster “lifts up his hands and implores the orchestra to be silent,” he hushes the crowd and further slows the pace of the piece. This phrase is followed by a semicolon, which at once forces a pause and requires the reader to internalize this new-found silence. The horse, no longer racing, now “trembling,” gives up its delicate burden.
The writing is now similar to the beginning of the first sentence where there existed this overwhelming sense of softness. The public, no longer raucous, yields its applause; however, now the applause becomes inadequate for the spectacle of this tremendous performance. As the rider marinates in the insufficient applause, she delicately balances on the “tips of her toes,” her “small head thrown back.” This continued and delicate decline in tempo and intensity leads us ever more deliberately to the final decree when the spectator “weeps without knowing it,” so softly that he, himself, is unaware.
In these two sentences, Kafka adorns each word with significance as they build the stylistic effect. The pacing of his prose emulates the intensity of the emotions of the spectator and, consequently, the reader. Each shift in the spectator’s emotions is internalized by the reader, a spectator in their own right, living vicariously for the moment through the spectator. But what of this spectator? In fact, he is merely a “young visitor,” thus an inexperienced outsider. As the tempo escalates in the first sentence, hope builds that this unlikely hero might halt the unsettling act we are witnessing. As simultaneously our growing optimism and the tempo of the passage reach their peak, our hope is suspended. The reader is abruptly deposited into reality with “But since that is not so,” dissolving the gruesome fantasy which might empower our young visitor to act.
Moreover, the pacing gently slows as now the reader becomes enchanted by the beautiful rider and her daring performance. The gentle descent ends with “since that is so,” shifting the attention back to the spectator, the focus of the piece, despite being momentarily overshadowed by the brilliant circus act. As the closing march plays, the spectator weeps and his tears extinguish our hope. He laments his lack of power. The act is beautiful and perfect and our spectator has nothing to contribute or correct. Even without any explicit mention of hope in “Up in the Gallery,” it is hope that has been given and then cruelly snatched amidst the fluctuating tempo of these two evocative sentences.
Perhaps the young visitor is Kafka who perceives himself as a spectator of life, hopeless and ineffectual. His desires exist and he knows what he wants but his inability to act, his powerlessness, restrains him. Trapped in his sad reality, aware of his desire but unable to achieve it, Kafka hesitates, viewing life from the gallery, unable to take the arena and yell “stop.” Perhaps this work speaks to the power dynamics in our society and how individuals are paralyzed by their feeling of powerlessness.
The whole work is sinister. Kafka lures the reader into his world and takes them on a rollercoaster of emotion.
He writes in a way that induces the reader to identify with the spectator and then he gradually builds hope in the reader only to strip it away in the following sentence. The reader is left with this overwhelming feeling of despair as they themselves have just experienced the lack of control that often defines the experience of human life.
The pace and cadence of the language employed by an author provides a powerful tool to accentuate drama and enhance meaning in written work.
This can be especially impactful in work meant to be performed such as plays. In the classic tragedy Macbeth, the play’s tempo reaches its crescendo in Act 5. As his play nears its end, Shakespeare employs shorter and shorter scenes to accelerate the pace of the play while simultaneously extinguishing the audience’s last remaining hope for Macbeth or his partner in unbridled ambition, Lady Macbeth. The tempo of Lady Macbeth’s speech in her final sleepwalking scene illustrates her downfall. Lady Macbeth, who initially wielded eloquent and powerful control to hold her weaker husband together, no longer speaks in verse as she has done through the entirety of the play. Her break from iambic pentameter combined with her disordered recollections magnifies the overwhelming impression of her descent into madness.
As a result of her short, choppy sentences, the tempo of her speech increases, symbolizing her decline towards an unstable mental state. Previously, when Lady Macbeth comforts her husband, “How now, my lord? Why do you keep alone, / Of sorriest fancies your companions making, / Using those thoughts which should indeed have died / With them they think on Things without all remedy / Should be without regard. What’s done is done” she exhibits evenly paced thoughts creating hope that what they have done will not ruin their spirits (3.6.7-12).
Gradually, guilt takes over and Lady Macbeth begins to lose hope that their selfish desires will ever be achieved through their violent actions. She loses control over the situation their ambition has created as she quickly descends into madness. Powerless and exhausted, Lady Macbeth mumbles, “To bed, to bed, to bed. There’s a knocking at the gate. / Come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What’s done / cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed,” revealing the toll that grief has taken on her soul (5.2.59-62). The striking contrast between these lines highlights Lady Macbeth’s loss of power. The diction also contributes to a sense of hopelessness.
Originally, Lady Macbeth declares: “What’s done is done,” giving the impression that, because the murder is over, additional thought is unnecessary (3.2.12). When Lady Macbeth utters her last lines, “What’s done / cannot be undone,” she broadcasts her abandonment of hope (5.2.60). The use of enjambment compels the audience to recall her previous declaration as the line is broken specifically in the place where the prior line is changed. In that instance, Lady Macbeth’s descent is complete. Atonement abandoned, powerless to change her fate, Lady Macbeth makes a final retreat to her bed.
Kafka’s ability to inspire meaning in his compact work derives from the way he expresses things as much as the things he expresses. Shakespeare, similarly, broadcasts Lady Macbeth’s downfall through changing her already established speaking patterns.
From psychology, we learn the widely accepted truth that people find the way one says things can trump the words actually used. In conversation, body language and eye contact provide key indicators to show how someone is responding to your words. Applying this to literature, tempo emerges as a way to change the impression words leave without changing the words themselves. This nuanced relationship between authors and their readers allows interaction on an intimate, interpersonal level.
As tempo builds, the writer is looking into the reader’s eyes, grabbing their attention and holding them there. As tempo falls, the writer loosens their grip, allowing the reader a moment to absorb the emotions the author has conjured. Kafka exerts power over his audience to reinforce their association with the powerlessness of the narrator. By forcing the reader to be drawn into the drama rising and falling with the young visitor, the reader’s journey is complete; the lack of power, internalized. Identifying with the character, enduring the same ride, ebbing and flowing within the story, a student experiences rather than merely reads this powerful prose. This journey renders great literature an experience and not merely entertainment.
Written by Peter Lena
What was Franz Kafka’s philosophy?
