The Nightmare of Reason – A Life of Franz Kafka, by Ernst Pawel – 1985 (1984) [Nancy Crampton]

Unlike Anthony Russo’s cover illustrations for the series of Schocken Books titles covering the works of Franz Kafka (published from the late 1980s through the early 1990s), the cover art of Ernst Pawel’s highly praised 1984 biography of Kafka, The Nightmare of Reason – A Life of Franz Kafka (Farrar – Straus – Giroux), is an illustration of a different sort:  Jacket designer Candy Jernigan used a photographic silhouette of Prague Castle to symbolize the physical, social, and psychological “world” of Franz Kafka’s writing.  Perhaps the image was made from a color negative, with the color saturation of the final image having been enhanced during printing.  Or, perhaps the picture is simply an accurate representation of the colors of the Prague skyline at dusk. 

Either way, the combination of black-clouded yellow-orange sky, with the castle in the distance, is quite striking. 

By way of comparison, this September, 2014 photograph, from Park Inn at Radisson, shows a sunset view of the Castle from the Charles Bridge.

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Some of Ernst Pawel’s other works include: From the Dark Tower, In The Absence of Magic, Letters of Thomas Mann 1889-1955 (selected and translated from the German by Richard and Clara Winston), Life in Dark Ages: A Memoir, The Island in Time (a novel), The Labyrinth of Exile: A Life of Theodor Herzl, The Poet Dying : Heinrich Heine’s Last Years in Paris, and, Writings of the Nazi Holocaust. 

He passed away in 1994.  

This is his portrait, by Nancy Crampton, from the book jacket.

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Ernst Pawel, 74, Biographer, Dies

The New York Times
Aug. 19, 1994

Section A, Page 24

Ernst Pawel, a novelist and biographer, died on Tuesday at his home in Great Neck, L.I.  He was 74.

The cause was lung cancer, his family said.

Mr. Pawel’s 1984 biography of Franz Kafka, “The Nightmare of Reason,” won several prizes, including the Alfred Harcourt Award in biography and memoirs, and was translated into 10 languages.  In a review for The New York Times, Christopher Lehmann-Haupt called the work “moving and perceptive.”

Mr. Pawel was also the author of “The Labyrinth of Exile,” a biography of Theodor Herzl, the founder of modern Zionism.  He had recently finished a book about the German poet Heinrich Heine and at the time of his death was working on his own memoirs, “Life in the Dark Ages.”  Both books are to be published posthumously, his family said.

He was born in 1920 in Breslau, then under German rule but now part of Poland, and fled Nazi Germany with his family in 1933, settling first in Yugoslavia and four years later immigrating to New York City.  After serving as a translator for Army intelligence during World War II, he received a bachelor’s degree from the City University of New York.

He was the author of three novels, “The Island of Time” (1950), “The Dark Tower” (1957) and “In the Absence of Magic” (1961), and numerous essays and book reviews.  Fluent in a dozen languages, he worked for 36 years as a translator and public relations executive for New York Life Insurance.  He retired in 1982.

He is survived by his wife of 51 years, Ruth; a son, Michael, and a daughter, Miriam, both of Manhattan, and a granddaughter.

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A Nightmare of Reason was published by Vintage Books in 1985, in trade paperback format.  (Unfortunately, I don’t know the cover artist’s name!)  

Franz Kafka – Letters to Milena (Translated and with an Introduction by Philip Boehm) – 1990 [Anthony Russo]

(Friday, June 11, 1920)

It’s only in my dreams that I am so sinister.

Recently I had another dream about you,
it was a big dream, but I hardly remember a thing.
I was in Vienna, I don’t recall anything about that,
next I went to Prague and had forgotten your address,
not only the street but also the city, everything,
one the name Schreiber kept somehow appearing,
but I didn’t know what to make of that.
So I had lost you completely.
In my despair I made various very clever attempts,
which were nevertheless not carried out –
I don’t know why –
I just remember one of them.
I wrote on an envelope: M. Jesenski and underneath
“Request delivery of this letter,
because otherwise the Ministry of Finance will suffer terrible loss.”
With this threat I hoped to engage the entire government in my search for you.
Clever?
Don’t let this way you against me.
It’s only in my dreams that I am so sinister.

(September, 1920)

But here the transmutability came into play…

Yesterday I dreamt about you.
I hardly remember the details,
just that we kept on merging into one another,
I was you,
you were me.
Finally you somehow caught fire;
I remembered that fire can be smothered with cloth,
took an old coat and beat you with it.
But then the metamorphoses resumed and went so far
that you were no longer even there;
instead I was the one on fire and I was also the one who was beating the fire with the coat.
The beating didn’t help, however,
and only confirmed my old fear that things like that can’t hurt a fire.
Meanwhile the firemen had arrived and you were somehow saved after all.
But you were different than before,
ghostlike,
drawn against the dark with chalk,
and you fell lifeless into my arms,
or perhaps you merely fainted with joy at being saved.
But here the transmutability came into play:
maybe I was the one falling into someone’s arms.

Franz Kafka – The Sons (Introduction by Mark Anderson) – 1989 [Anthony Russo]

…because you once mentioned in passing that I too might be called to the Torah. 
That was something I dreaded for years. 
But otherwise I was not fundamentally disturbed in my boredom,
unless it was by the bar mitzvah,
but that demanded no more than some ridiculous memorizing,
in other words,
it led to nothing but some ridiculous passing of an examination…  (p. 147)

Marrying,
founding a family,
accepting all the children that come,
supporting them in this insecure world
and perhaps even guiding them a little,
is, I am convinced, the utmost a human being can succeed in doing at all.
That so many seem to succeed in this is no evidence to the contrary;
first of all, there are not many who do succeed,
and second, these not-many usually don’t “do” it,
it merely “happens” to them;
although this is not that utmost,
it is still very great and very honorable
(particularly since “doing” and “happening” cannot be kept clearly distinct).
And finally, it is not a matter of this utmost at all,
anyway, but only of some distant but decent approximation;
it is, after all, not necessary to fly right into the middle of the sun,
but it is necessary to crawl to a clean little spot on Earth
where the sun sometimes shines and one can warm oneself a little.  (p. 156)

Franz Kafka – Diaries (Edited by Max Brod) – 1948 (1988) [Anthony Russo]

What have I in common with Jews?
I have hardly anything in common with myself
and should stand very quietly in a corner,
content that I can breathe. – January 8-11, 1914

June, 1914 (pp. 279-280)

There are certain relationships which I can feel distinctly
but which I am unable to perceive. 
It would be sufficient to plunge down a little deeper;
but just at this point the upward pressure is so strong
that I should think myself at the very bottom
if I did not feel the currents moving below me. 
In any event, I look upward to the surface
whence the thousand-times-reflected brilliance of the light falls upon me. 
I float up and splash around on the surface,
in spite of the fact that I loathe everything up there and –

August 6, 1914 (p. 302)

What will be my fate as a writer is very simple.
My talent for portraying my dreamlike inner life
has thrust all other matters into the background;
my life has dwindled dreadfully,
nor will it cease to dwindle.
Nothing else will ever satisfy me.
But the strength I can muster for that portrayal is not to be counted upon:
perhaps it has already vanished forever,
perhaps it will come back to me again,
although the circumstances of my life didn’t favour its return.
Thus I waver,
continually fly to the summit of the mountain,
but then fall back in a moment.

March 11, 1915 (p. 332)

Eastern and Western Jews, a meeting. 
The Eastern Jews’ contempt for the Jews here. 
Justification for this contempt. 
The way the Eastern Jews know the reason for their contempt,
but the Western Jews do not. 

March 13, 1915 (p. 333)

Occasionally I feel an unhappiness which almost dismembers me,
and at the same time am convinced of its necessity
and the existence of a goal to which one makes one’s way
by undergoing every kind of unhappiness
(am now influenced by my recollection of Herzen,
but the thought occurs on other occasions too.)