Amerika: The Man Who Disappeared

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Overview

Newly restored to the original text: for this new translation, Hofmann returned to Kafka’s manuscripts, restoring matters of substance and detail, and even the book’s original ending.
Michael Hofmann's startlingly visceral and immediate translation revives Kafka's great comedy, and captures a new Kafka, free from Prague and loose in the new world, a Kafka shot through with light in this highly charged and enormously nuanced translation. Kafka began the first of his three novels ...

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Overview

Newly restored to the original text: for this new translation, Hofmann returned to Kafka’s manuscripts, restoring matters of substance and detail, and even the book’s original ending.
Michael Hofmann's startlingly visceral and immediate translation revives Kafka's great comedy, and captures a new Kafka, free from Prague and loose in the new world, a Kafka shot through with light in this highly charged and enormously nuanced translation. Kafka began the first of his three novels in 1911, but like the others, Amerika remained unfinished, and perhaps, as Klaus Mann suggested, "necessarily endless." Karl Rossman, the youthful hero of the novel, "a poor boy of seventeen," has been banished by his parents to America, following a scandal. There, with unquenchable optimism, he throws himself into adventure after misadventure, and experiences multiply as he makes his way into the heart of the country, to The Great Nature Theater of Oklahoma. In creating this new translation, Hofmann, as he explains in his introduction, returned to the manuscript version of the book, restoring matters of substance and detail. Fragments which have never before been presented in English are now reinstated including the book's original "ending."The San Francisco Chronicle said Hofmann’s “sleek translation does a wonderful job” and The New York Times concurred: “Anything by Kafka is worth reading again, especially in the hands of such a gifted translator as Hofmann.”

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Editorial Reviews

Los Angeles Times Book Review
Unpredictable and funny, as close to a Buster Keaton comedy as you can get.”— Jim Krusoe
Harvard Book Review
[Hofmann's] new translation is more successful in conveying ... a sense of Kafka's unfinished work.”— Veronika Tuckerova
Washington Post Book World
“One can hardly fail to welcome Michael Hofmann's more accurate English text.”
New Republic
Hofmann's translation is invaluable....It achieves what translations are supposedly unable to do: it is at once 'loyal' and 'beautiful.'”— John Zilcosky
The San Francisco Chronicle
“Hofmann's slick, sleek translation does a wonderful job of keeping those competing forces in balance.”
The New York Times Book Review
“Anything by Kafka is worth reading again, especially in the hands of such a gifted translator as Hofmann.”
The New Republic
Of all the recent re-translations of Kafka into English, this volume is the most noteworthy. It achieves what translations are supposedly unable to do; it is at once ‘loyal’ and ‘beautiful’—beautifully disorienting, beautifully confusing, beautifully cruel.”— John Zilcosky
Jim Krusoe - Los Angeles Times Book Review
“Unpredictable and funny, as close to a Buster Keaton comedy as you can get.”
Veronika Tuckerova - Harvard Book Review
“[Hofmann's] new translation is more successful in conveying ... a sense of Kafka's unfinished work.”
John Zilcosky - New Republic
“Hofmann's translation is invaluable....It achieves what translations are supposedly unable to do: it is at once 'loyal' and 'beautiful.'”
John Ashbery
“A stirring, singular work, now restored to its original beauty.”
Charles Simic
“Michael Hofmann’s magnificent new translation restores its rightful place as one of Kafka’s most delightful and most memorable works.”
John Zilcosky - The New Republic
“Of all the recent re-translations of Kafka into English, this volume is the most noteworthy. It achieves what translations are supposedly unable to do; it is at once ‘loyal’ and ‘beautiful’—beautifully disorienting, beautifully confusing, beautifully cruel.”
Eleanor Clark
Kafka never wrote a more accurate picture of Central Europe than in his novel Amerika.
The Griffin
Aldous Huxley
His writings are the beautiful and fantastic prolegomena to Buddhism which he never chose to formulate.
Thomas Mann
This fantasy of a New World,so full of a childlike genius...this strange book—Amerika.
John Updike
A century after his birth he seems the last holy writer,and the supreme fabulist of modern man's cosmic predicament.
The New Yorker
Eliot Weinberger
A major act of historical restoration...the result is that Amerika,the plot of the novel,can finally be seen as...a thrilling piece of writing.
Kirkus Reviews
The last few years have produced new translations of Kafka’s masterpieces The Trial, The Castle, and now their unfinished successor (the first begun, and last published, of the three). Translator Hoffman’s introduction takes issue with both earlier English versions and their implication that Kafka’s treatment of the European fascination with America was to have been an essentially benign one. And, in fact, the murderous satiric thrust of Nabokov’s Lolita springs to mind as we follow the episodic misadventures of Czech teenager Karl Rossman: exiled to the younger country by his scandalized parents (after a housemaid seduces Karl and bears his child), "educated" in the pragmatic commercialism embodied by his fully Americanized Uncle Jakob, used and discarded by a succession of deceitful reality instructors and strong-willed women, and "fulfilled" by employment as a backstage technician for the garish cloud-cuckooland of "the Nature Theatre of Oklahoma." This strangest of Kafka’s major works may lack the concentrated power of his bleak symbolic studies of frustration and anomie, but its rich display of narrative energy unquestionably exemplifies both a thematic vein largely untapped and a road inexplicably not taken.
From the Publisher
“This fantasy of a New World, so full of a childlike genius...this strange book—Amerika. —Thomas Mann”

“Kafka never wrote a more accurate picture of Central Europe than in his novel Amerika.”

“His writings are the beautiful and fantastic prolegomena to Buddhism which he never chose to formulate. —Aldous Huxley”

“A century after his birth he seems the last holy writer, and the supreme fabulist of modern”

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780811215695
  • Publisher: New Directions Publishing Corporation
  • Publication date: 4/19/2004
  • Edition description: New Restored Text Translation
  • Pages: 240
  • Sales rank: 1,368,484
  • Product dimensions: 5.20 (w) x 8.00 (h) x 0.70 (d)

Meet the Author

Franz Kafka

Franz Kafka (1883-1924) was born of Jewish parents in Prague. Several of his story collections were published in his lifetime and his novels, The Trial, The Castle, and Amerika, were published posthumously by his editor Max Brod.

For his translations, acclaimed poet Michael Hofmann has won the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize, the Dublin International IMPAC Award, the PEN/Book-of-the-Month Club Prize, the Helen and Kurt Wolff Translator’s Prize, the Oxford-Weidenfeld Translation Prize, and The Schlegel-Tieck Prize (four times). He is the highly acclaimed translator of, among others, Kafka, Brecht, and Joseph Roth.

Biography

Franz Kafka was born in 1883 to a well-to-do middle-class Jewish family. His father, the self-made proprietor of a wholesale haberdashery business, was a domineering man whose approbation Franz continually struggled to win. The younger Kafka's feelings of inadequacy and guilt form the background of much of his work and are made explicit in his "Letter to His Father" (excerpted in this volume), which was written in 1919 but never sent.

Kafka was educated in the German language schools of Prague and at the city's German University, where in 1908 he took a law degree. Literature, however, remained his sole passion. At this time he became part of a literary circle that included Franz Werfel, Martin Buber, and Kafka's close friend Max Brod. Encouraged by Brod, Kafka published the prose collection Observations in 1913. Two years later his story "The Stoker" won the Fontaine prize. In 1916 he began work on The Trial and between this time and 1923 produced three incomplete novels as well as numerous sketches and stories. In his lifetime some of his short works did appear: The Judgment (1916), The Metamorphosis (1916), The Penal Colony (1919), and The Country Doctor (1919).

Before his death of tuberculosis in 1924, Kafka had charged Max Brod with the execution of his estate, ordering Brod to burn the manuscripts. With the somewhat circular justification that Kafka must have known his friend could not obey such an order, Brod decided to publish Kafka's writings. To this act of "betrayal" the world owes the preservation of some of the most unforgettable and influential literary works of our century.

Biography courtesy of BN.com

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    1. Date of Birth:
      July 3, 1883
    2. Place of Birth:
      Prague, Austria-Hungary
    1. Date of Death:
      June 3, 1924
    2. Place of Death:
      Vienna, Austria
    1. Education:
      German elementary and secondary schools. Graduated from German Charles-Ferdinand University of Prague.

Read an Excerpt

AMERIKA (THE MAN WHO DISAPPEARED)


By FRANZ KAFKA

A NEW DIRECTIONS BOOK

ISBN: 081121513X


Chapter One

THE STOKER

As the seventeen-year-old Karl Rossmann, who had been sent to America by his unfortunate parents because a maid had seduced him and had a child by him, sailed slowly into New York harbour, he suddenly saw the Statue of Liberty, which had already been in view for some time, as though in an intenser sunlight. The sword in her hand seemed only just to have been raised aloft, and the-unchained winds blew about her form.

`So high,' he said to himself, and quite forgetting to disembark, he found himself gradually pushed up against the railing by the massing throng of porters.

A young man with whom he had struck up a slight acquaintance during the crossing said to him in passing.' `Well, don't you want to get off yet?' `I'm all ready,' said Karl laughing to him, and in his exuberance and because he was a strong lad, he raised his suitcase on to his shoulder. But as he watched his acquaintance disappearing along with the others, swinging a cane, he realized that he had left his umbrella down in the ship. So he hurriedly asked his acquaintance, who seemed less than overjoyed about it, to be so good as to wait by his suitcase for a moment, took a quick look around for his subsequent orientation, and hurried off. Below deck, he found to his annoyance that a passage that would have considerably shortened the way for him was for the first time barred, probably something to do with the factthat all the passengers were disembarking, and so he was forced instead to make his way through numerous little rooms, along continually curving passages and down tiny flights of stairs, one after the other, and then through an empty room with an abandoned desk in it until, eventually, only ever having gone this way once or twice previously, and then in the company of others, he found that he was totally and utterly lost. Not knowing what to do, not seeing anyone, and hearing only the scraping of thousands of human feet overhead and the last, faraway wheezings of the engine, which had already been turned off, he began without thinking to knock at the little door to which he had come on his wanderings. `It's open!' came a voice from within, and Karl felt real relief as he opened the door. `Why are you banging about on the door like a madman?' asked an enormous man, barely looking at Karl. Through some kind of overhead light-shaft, a dim light, long since used up in the higher reaches of the ship, fell into the wretched cabin, in which a bed, a wardrobe, a chair and the man were all standing close together, as though in storage. `I've lost my way,' said Karl. `I never quite realized on the crossing what a terribly big ship this is.' `Well, you're right about that,' said the man with some pride, and carried on tinkering with the lock of a small suitcase, repeatedly shutting it with both hands to listen to the sound of the lock as it snapped shut. `Why don't you come in,' the man went on, `don't stand around outside.' `Aren't I bothering you?' asked Karl. `Pah, how could you bother me?' `Are you German?' Karl asked to reassure himself, as he'd heard a lot about the dangers for new arrivals in America, especially coming from Irishmen. `Yes, yes,' said the man. Still Karl hesitated. Then the man abruptly grabbed the door handle, and pulling it to, swept Karl into the room with him. `I hate it when people stand in the corridor and watch me,' said the man, going back to work on his suitcase, `the world and his wife go by outside peering in, it's quite intolerable.' `But the passage outside is completely deserted,' said Karl, who was standing squeezed uncomfortably against the bedpost. `Yes, now,' said the man. `But now is what matters,' thought Karl. `He is an unreasonable man.' `Lie down on the bed, you'll have more room that way,' said the man. Karl awkwardly clambered on to the bed, and had to laugh out loud about his first vain attempt to mount it. No sooner was he on it, though, than he cried: `Oh God, I've quite forgotten all about my suitcase!' `Where is it?' `Up on deck, an acquaintance is keeping an eye on it for me. What was his name now?' And from a secret pocket that his mother had sewn into the lining of his jacket for the crossing, he pulled a calling-card: `Butterbaum, Franz Butterbaum.' `Is the suitcase important to you?' `Of course.' `Well then, so why did you give it to a stranger?' `I forgot my umbrella down below and went to get it, but I didn't want to lug my suitcase down with me. And now I've gone and gotten completely lost.' `Are you on your own? There's no one with you?' `Yes, I'm on my own.' I should stay by this man, thought Karl, I may not find a better friend in a hurry. `And now you've lost your suitcase. Not to mention the umbrella,' and the man sat down on the chair, as though Karl's predicament was beginning to interest him. `I don't think the suitcase is lost yet.' `Think all you like,' said the man, and scratched vigorously at his short, thick, black hair. `But you should know the different ports have different morals. In Hamburg your man Butterbaum might have minded your suitcase for you, but over here, there's probably no trace of either of them any more.' `Then I'd better go back up right away,' said Karl and tried to see how he might leave. `You're staying put,' said the man, and gave him a push in the chest, that sent him sprawling back on the bed. `But why?' asked Karl angrily. `There's no point,' said the man, `in a little while I'll be going up myself, and we can go together. Either your suitcase will have been stolen and that's too bad and you can mourn its loss till the end of your days, or else the fellow's still minding it, in which case he's a fool and he might as well go on minding it, or he's an honest man and just left it there, and we'll find it more easily when the ship's emptied. Same thing with your umbrella.' `Do you know your way around the ship?' asked Karl suspiciously, and it seemed to him that the otherwise attractive idea that his belongings would be more easily found on the empty ship had some kind of hidden catch. `I'm the ship's stoker,' said the man. `You're the ship's stoker,' cried Karl joyfully, as though that surpassed all expectations, and propped himself up on his elbow to take a closer look at the man. `Just outside the room where I slept with the Slovak there was a little porthole, and through it we could see into the engine-room.' `Yes, that's where I was working,' said the stoker. `I've always been terribly interested in machinery,' said Karl, still following a particular line of thought, `and I'm sure I would have become an engineer if I hadn't had to go to America.' `Why did you have to go to America?' `Ah, never mind!' said Karl, dismissing the whole story with a wave of his hand. And he smiled at the stoker, as though asking him to take a lenient view of whatever it was he hadn't told him. `I expect there's a good reason,' said the stoker, and it was hard to tell whether he still wanted to hear it or not. `And now I might as well become a stoker,' said Karl. `My parents don't care what becomes of me.' `My job will be going,' said the stoker, and coolly thrust his hands into his pockets and kicked out his legs, which were clad in rumpled, leather-like iron-grey trousers, on to the bed to stretch them. Karl was forced to move nearer to the wall. `You're leaving the ship?' `Yup, we're off this very day.' `But what for? Don't you like it?' `Well, it's circumstances really, it's not always whether you like something or not that matters. Anyway you're right, I don't like it. You're probably not serious about saying you could become a stoker, but that's precisely how you get to be one. I'd strongly advise you against it myself. If you were intending to study in Europe, why not study here. Universities in America are incomparably better.' `That may be,' said Karl, `but I can hardly afford to study. I did once read about someone who spent his days working in a business and his nights studying, and in the end he became a doctor and I think a burgomaster, but you need a lot of stamina for that, don't you? I'm afraid I don't have that. Besides, I was never especially good at school, and wasn't at all sorry when I had to leave. Schools here are supposed to be even stricter. I hardly know any English. And there's a lot of bias against foreigners here too, I believe.' `Have you had experience of that too? That's good. Then you're the man for me. You see, this is a German ship, it belongs to the Hamburg America Line, everyone who works on it should be German. So then why is the senior engineer Rumanian? Schubal, his name is. It's incredible. And that bastard bossing Germans around on a German ship. Don't get the idea' - he was out of breath, and his hands flapped - `don't you believe that I'm complaining for the hell of it. I know you don't have any influence, and you're just a poor fellow yourself. But it's intolerable.' And he beat the table with his fist several times, not taking his eyes off it as he did so. `I've served on so many ships in my time' - and here he reeled off a list of twenty names as if it was a single word, Karl felt quite giddy - `and with distinction, I was praised, I was a worker of the kind my captains liked, I even served on the same clipper for several years' - he rose, as if that had been the high point of his life - `and here on this bathtub, where everything is done by rote, where they've no use for imagination - here I'm suddenly no good, here I'm always getting in Schubal's way, I'm lazy, I deserve to get kicked out, they only pay me my wages out of the kindness of their hearts. Does that make any sense to you? Not me.' `You mustn't stand for that,' said Karl in agitation. He had almost forgotten he was in the uncertain hold of a ship moored to the coast of an unknown continent, that's how much he felt at home on the stoker's bed. `Have you been to see the captain? Have you taken your case to him?' `Ah leave off, forget it. I don't want you here. You don't listen to what I say, and then you start giving me advice. How can I go to the captain.' And the stoker sat down again, exhausted, and buried his face in his hands. `But it's the best advice I know,' Karl said to himself. And it seemed to him that he would have done better to fetch his suitcase, instead of offering advice which was only ignored anyway. When his father had given the suitcase into his possession, he had mused in jest: I wonder how long you'll manage to hang on to it for? And now that expensive suitcase might already be lost in earnest. His only consolation was the fact that his father couldn't possibly learn about his present fix, even if he tried to make inquiries. The shipping company would only be able to confirm that he had reached New York safely. But Karl felt sad that there were things in the suitcase that he had hardly used, although he should have done, he should have changed his shirt for example, some time ago. He had tried to make false economies; now, at the beginning of his career, when he most needed to be in clean clothes, he would have to appear in a dirty shirt. Those were fine prospects. Apart from that, the loss of his suitcase wasn't so serious, because the suit he was wearing was better than the one in the suitcase, which was really nothing better than a sort of emergency suit, which his mother had even had to mend just before his departure. Then he remembered there was a piece of Verona salami in the suitcase as well, which his mother had given him as a last-minute gift, but of which he had only been able to eat a tiny portion, since for the whole crossing he had had very little appetite and the soup that was doled out in the steerage had been plenty for him. Now, though, he would have liked to have had the salami handy, to make a present of it to the stoker, because his sort are easily won over by some small present or other. Karl knew that from the example of his father who won over all the junior employees he had to deal with by handing out cigars to them. Now the only thing Karl had left to give was his money, and if he had indeed already lost his suitcase, he wanted to leave that untouched for the moment. His thoughts returned to the suitcase, and now he really couldn't understand why, having watched it so carefully for the whole crossing that his watchfulness had almost cost him his sleep, he had now permitted that same suitcase to be taken from him so simply. He recalled the five nights during which he had incessantly suspected the little Slovak, who was sleeping a couple of places to his left, of having intentions on his suitcase. That Slovak had just been waiting for Karl, finally, sapped by exhaustion, to drop off for one instant, so that he could pull the suitcase over to himself by means of a long rod which he spent his days endlessly playing or practising with. That Slovak looked innocent enough by day, hut no sooner did night fall than he would get up time and again from his bed and cast sad looks across at Karl's suitcase. Karl saw this quite clearly, someone, with the natural apprehensiveness of the emigrant, was forever lighting a little lamp somewhere, even though that was against the ship's regulations, and trying by its light to decipher the incomprehensible pamphlets of the emigration agencies. If there happened to be one such light close by, then Karl would be able to snooze a little, but if it was some way off, or even more if it was dark, then he had to keep his eyes open. His efforts had exhausted him, and now it seemed they might have been in vain. That Butterbaum had better look out, if he should ever run into him somewhere.

At that moment, the complete silence that had so far prevailed was broken by the distant sound of the pattering of children's feet, that grew louder as it approached, and then became the firm strides of men. They were obviously walking in single file, in the narrow passage, and a jangling as of weapons became audible. Karl, who was almost on the point of stretching out on the bed and falling into a sleep freed of all worries about suitcase and Slovaks, was startled up and nudged the stoker to get his attention at last, because the head of the column seemed to have reached the door. `That's the ship's band,' said the stoker, `they've been playing up on deck, and now they're packing up. That means everything's done, and we can go. Come on.' He took Karl by the hand, at the last moment removed a picture of the Virgin from the wall over the bed, crammed it into his top pocket, picked up his suitcase and hurriedly left the cabin with Karl.

`Now I'm going to the purser's office to give those gents a piece of my mind. There's no one left, no point in hanging back any more.' This the stoker repeated with variations in various ways and he also attempted to crush a rat that crossed their path with a sideways swipe of his boot, but he only succeeded in propelling it into its hole which it had reached just in time. He was generally slow in his movements, for if his legs were long they were also heavy.

They came to a part of the kitchen where a few girls in dirty aprons - which they were spattering on purpose - were cleaning crockery in large vats. The stoker called out to one Lina, put his arm around her hip, and walked with her for a few steps, as she pressed herself flirtatiously against him. `We're just off to get paid, do you want to come?' he asked. `Why should I bother, just bring me the money yourself,' she replied, slipped round his arm and ran off. `Where did you get the good-looking boy from?' she added, not really expecting an answer. The other girls, who had stopped their work to listen, all laughed.

They for their part carried on and reached a door that had a little pediment above it, supported on little gilded caryatids. For something on a ship, it looked distinctly lavish. Karl realized he had never been to this part of the ship, which had probably been reserved for the use of first and second class passengers during the crossing, but now the separating doors had been thrown open prior to the great ship's cleaning. They had in fact encountered a few men carrying brooms over their shoulders who greeted the stoker. Karl was amazed at all the bustle, between decks where he had been he had had no sense of it at all. Along the passages ran electrical wires, and one continually heard the ringing of a little bell.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from AMERIKA (THE MAN WHO DISAPPEARED) by FRANZ KAFKA
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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Table of Contents

Introduction vii
Bibliography xv
Amerika (The Man Who Disappeared) 1
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Customer Reviews

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Sort by: Showing all of 4 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 7, 2013

    Amerika i found to be an outstanding book. From the way it start

    Amerika i found to be an outstanding book. From the way it start with the stoker and him coming from England send a powerful message of the harsh time most people are in. I really found this book interesting because it really relates to the time in history when America first start to somewhat develope. During this time very few discoveries had been made however, it is about to spark the industrial revolution. This book focuses on the main character Karl who is fresh off the boat from Europe sent away from family and anything else he had ever know. Its hard to think about all the freedoms we have as people now in America and how people would ship what would be a supposed trouble maker to America. Which now however we sometimes take for granted our great country which other come now for enjoyment and schooling.
    This book made me realize how different our struggles are from today instead of back then. Back then most people would struggle to eat and not that we dont have our poverty now but things are a lot easier for someone who came from another country especially to get food and put a roof over there heads. Also, its help me realize how different we are when it comes to suffering injustices. For example when Robinson is made almost a slave by Delmarche and his girlfriend. In our time now people wouldnt stand for that kind of treatment not only that but even for a kid to be raised by his parent as such is against the law. It surprising to see how far america has come from the past because through all the struggles we see Karl and others go through in this book. These are the same people in real time that would help shape many more protective laws. This making America today a much better place to live.
    The chapters of this book made me want to see something good happen at every turn for Karl. In one chapter he meets a girl in which he shares company sometimes when not at work. Ofcourse my mind straight away thought he has met his former girlfriend but before you know it they are seperated by lies and mistakes in which get him fired. It reminds me of that saying that whenever one take one step forward he gets knocked a few steps back. This to me just goes to show especially in America now that even though you get knocked back one must keep pushing forward in order to succeed.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 11, 2006

    Best of Kafka

    Explains itself, The Metamorphosis was very clever but at some times got a bit boring, this book is very entertaining.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 5, 2009

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted January 8, 2009

    No text was provided for this review.

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