Always stuck on Proust and Kafka

so I never actually end up being able to express my thoughts with any coherence or perspicacity (a word I learned from Lisa Simpson). Allow me to just say that Proust never had a real job (read: one that paid) but he worked, as in wrote, on some occasions. Apart from his one great feat, he also translated Ruskins (with help on the english which he didn't have a real grasp) and worked at some literary journals or whatever. Look, he was another one of those who was left with a fortune and didn't need to work. And just like the descendants of burgeoisies and aristocrats of this era, the ones in Proust's lifetime also were a bit averse to working. It's a little bit of a badge of honour to not have to work in that circle, instead filling their time with gossiping and socializing and the frequent parties. How quaint! Well, Proust didn't need to workand he chose not to. To be honest, what could a morbidly sensitive artiste like him do anyway? Would you have him work as an errand boy? The man had no hustle and that's that: if he lost all his money and needed a job, it was either living on his pen or dying without a third option.

All his gossiping and roming the streets of Paris and sitting down in some hotel for cakes and coffee or whatever all were cumulative in the attention to detail in his works. You don't just get the madeleine bit without having tea on occasion.

On his unrequited love, and mama's boy issues. Well, they're linked. Great surprise. With all his dependence and love for his mama he was bound to fall for anyone who took care of him. In this case it was his servant/errand-person (?) Albertine. So what the hell, that's how it had to happen especially with Albertine being married with kids and totally not gay. And who can blame him for taking any lavish gifts thrown his way? Not a coward as I. Proust probably didn't even want a match that could work, subconsciously anyway, because that would mean he found a replacement for his mother. If that happened what would he do with all those memories and how could he cherish all those moments that he kept like a bee hovering around his nest.

So he is who he is. He's not a loser because of his one great work; I wouldn't say his one great gift of writing because he had to produce something with it to rely on it and that's what he did. And it took him writing on his big bed with people bringing him meals and working through his infirmities. So that's one person who's a genius but not so adaptable in his environment.

Oh, so I guess I'm going to stick to a topic. I was going to blog about this Chinese movie I saw which unlike most of the rest I did like. It was similar to Searching for Bobby Fischer with chess being replaced by Go and some homages to Hikaru No Go. Anyway it was a good father-son movie like Field of Dreams or something. I'll get back to it later if I can remember. The title: "The king of Go and his son"

Kafka is sort of the anti-Proust. He was probably a lot more nice and approachable than a snobbish aesthete such as Proust. He also had father issues instead of mother ones although really they were just maybe orthodox Jewish issues complemented with even greater feelings of worthlessness.

Actually, and I have absolutely no basis on which or evidence to support me on this, but he probably didn't have such a low self-esteem as we'd like to think. Of course, the Jewish experience in Europe was not conducive to building esteem and his father was probably as domineering as any in a child's worst nightmare. But with a person of his self-deprecating sense of humour he probably tookk most of it in stride. I mean the man had a few lovers and got laid. Oh, Proust was no virgin as well though maybe we're talking about a few visits to the market for his needs...um, it's a market economy, n'est pas? I believe that Kafka dealt with whatever issues he had with being Jewish or being intimidated by his father or whatever else, on paper and through his imagination. And after he was done at 4am then he was sane again, nodded off for three hours and headed to work.

So he had a job as a lawyer dealing with injured workings for some company. He was the productive member of society that Proust was definitely not. Probably most of his money was turned over to his parents, so he was that kind of a good kid like the ones you'd want as your son-in-law. Except for his need to write in the middle of the night on these rather visceral stories of varying levels of terror, probably. he supposedly cam up with the worker's helmet that people still use today and saved many workers from accidental injuries. So like I said, a contributing member of society that fifty Prousts couldn't match. Proust is like the wasteful small child and Kafka the responsible eldest. Oh well, can't win them all.

Anyway, he didn't last too long on his diet of pressure and burden and he passed away rather young. I'm tired. The point is, there couldn't have been a Proust or Kafka without their accompanying circumstances. Proust could not write like Proust without being a wasteful person who lived in the past only nourished by his memories (and the gossips of society). Kafka couldn't capture so well the ideas of fear and terror and whatever other issues that he had according to Wikipedia, without a father whose love he could never ever hope to win. Now I can end with the can't win them all.