The Trial – Franz Kafka

We all have stories that you could not make up. I was once allocated the budget to recruit a new member of the engineering team I managed. However, before I could spend this approved budget, I had to apply for approval to 'increase the head count'. To do this, I had to submit a particular form at a certain date to the HR department and this, I was told, would be reviewed at the next board meeting. My first submission was rejected, with the instruction that more information was needed, which I duly provided – a full A4 sheet justifying the need for the post. This was also rejected – I was informed that the extra information must fit the form. OK, much reduced information was now provided, and soon I heard from one source that the position had finally been approved, and I should expect official notification soon. I proceeded with the recruitment, but on the day before a second interview with a candidate to whom I expected to make a job offer, I was told through the official channel that in fact the position had not been approved. I cancelled the interview. Half an hour later I heard from a more senior person in the organisation that yes, the position had been approved. After explaining the situation, I got an e-mail endorsed by the CEO to confirm this. Through the recruitment agent I then tried to contact the candidate, who as it happens was flying to the UK for the interview. Sorry, I wanted to say, can you come after all? The message did not get through. The second interview never happened. Who in their right mind would want to work for an organisation which behaved like that? Like me? How could I find myself in such a position? In the event I had to continue the search and the position was filled more than a month later than it could have been.
Kafka knows this world. A world were little makes sense. Where each action you take made sense at the time, but, when you are judged by the result, none of it makes sense. A world where snippets of information must be weighed for their value in influencing your decision, but the rules are never clear and the results unpredictable. A world where your emotions, you anger, must be harnessed, not unleashed, if you are even to survive. In the human search for understanding, familiarity sufficient to achieve predictability, there is so much to digest, so many theories to test against the meagre data.
'The Trial' is probably Franz Kafka's most pure example of his art. A complex fabric of topics, treated with consummate ease. In simple language. On bureaucracy? Is Kafka's world an amplification of the absurdity we find all around us? That absurdity that results from human behaviour that is the natural consequence of animals with consciousness, driven by emotion. We only pretend to be working in a rational framework of necessary rules designed to achieve a clear purpose. Worse than that, the fabric grows as we each attempt to carve out our own livelihood in what has gone before. We are at once cushioned and shielded from the original intent by the ever expanding fabric of the organisation. Inscrutable procedures are evident but few clues as to what you should do are available. The rules are never explicit; they depend on interpretation and everyone has their own interpretation.
Equally, this novel evokes a tingling sensation reminiscent of that curious state between wakefulness and sleep, between dream and reality where nightmares are mixed with reality and it is impossible to tell which is tangible and which pure imagination – or horror. For a Jew living since the holocaust this novel is a chilling echo to the view held by Nazis that Jews are in some way guilty to the extent that they must be eliminated, a whole race. But no one can say what they are guilty of.
Sex is a recurring theme. Kafka explores this in its many aspects. Read the novel, there is much, much more in store for you!