Everyone Wants a Piece of Kafka, a Writer Who Refused to Be Claimed
![](https://www.thetechedvocate.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/17-1-660x400.jpg)
Franz Kafka, the enigmatic writer whose works have become a cornerstone of 20th-century literature, remains a figure of immense intrigue and speculation long after his death. His novels “The Metamorphosis,” “The Trial,” and “The Castle,” along with numerous short stories, are replete with themes of existential anxiety, bureaucratic absurdity, and incomprehensible social systems. But it is not only Kafka’s literary genius that has sparked widespread interest; the attempt to claim Kafka’s legacy has turned almost as complex as the narratives he penned.
Kafka, born into a German-speaking Jewish family in Prague in 1883, navigated the overlapping cultural realms of German, Jewish, and Czech societies. This intersectionality makes him an appealing figure to various cultural and national identities. Since his death in 1924, different groups have tried to appropriate Kafka’s legacy for their own narratives. He is claimed as a German writer because he wrote primarily in German; as a Jewish writer due to his heritage and his engagement with themes often associated with Jewish history and thought; and as a Czech writer because of his birthplace and its influence on his life’s work.
The battle over Kafka’s manuscripts is emblematic of the broader struggle to claim his cultural identity. In 2016, an Israeli court ruled that the papers should be transferred to the National Library of Israel based on Kafka’s connections to Judaism and Zionism. Conversely, Germany has long considered Kafka part of its cultural patrimony, arguing that since he wrote in German and was heavily influenced by German literature, his works belong to them.
Amidst these contentions lies a paradox: Kafka himself was a man who seemed determined not to be claimed. He was notoriously reticent about publicity of any kind and before he died, famously requested that all his unpublished writings be destroyed—a wish that was never granted by his friend and literary executor Max Brod, who published them instead.
Kafka’s relationship with identity was fraught. He battled with feelings of alienation from his father, societal expectations, and even from religious identity. Perhaps it is this sense of unbelonging that makes him so universally relatable—and coveted—in today’s world. But any attempt to tether Kafka exclusively to one identity fails to appreciate the multifaceted nature of his personhood and work.
As legal battles wage on and academics continue their discourse over who can rightfully claim Kafka’s heritage, one thing becomes abundantly clear: Kafka belongs not just to Germany, Israel, or the Czech Republic—he belongs to the world. Just like Gregor Samsa transformed into something unexpected in “The Metaphorphosis,” so too does Kafka’s legacy transcend simple classification.
In grappling with the question of ownership in relation to Kafka’s legacy, we must acknowledge that perhaps it reflects our collective desire to connect with something larger than ourselves—to find meaning or direction from a figure whose work deeply explores isolation and uncertainty. Everyone wants a piece of Kafka not only because of the brilliance of his writing but also because he speaks to the universal human condition.
It is fitting then that Kafka’s work should emerge not as a single voice contained within one community or national identity but as a resounding chorus speaking across generations, cultures, and continents. As long as readers find solace or provocation within his words, Franz Kafka will remain unclaimed—and claimable by all who find themselves captivated by the surreal yet deeply human worlds he has left behind.