"Alas," said the mouse, "the world is growing smaller every day. At the
beginning it was so big that I was afraid, I kept running and running, and I was
glad when at last I saw walls far away to the right and left, but these long
walls have narrowed so quickly that I am in the last chamber already, and there
in the corner stands the trap that I must run into," "You only need to change
your direction," said the cat, and ate it up.
"It's not that students don't "get" Kafka's humor but that we've taught them to
see humor as something you get -- the same way we've taught them that a self is
something you just have. No wonder they cannot appreciate the really central
Kafka joke: that the horrific struggle to establish a human self results in a
self whose humanity is inseparable from that horrific struggle. That our endless
and impossible journey toward home is in fact our home. It's hard to put into
words up at the blackboard, believe me. You can tell them that maybe it's good
they don't "get" Kafka. You can ask them to imagine his stories as all about a kind of door.
To envision us approaching and pounding on this door, increasingly hard, not just wanting admission but needing it; we don't know what it is
but we can feel it, this total desperation to enter, pounding and ramming and
kicking. That, finally, the door opens...and it opens outward--we've been
inside what we wanted all along. Das ist komisch."
