What is Good Literature?
An Experiment in Aesthetic Judgement
& Implicit Comparison
OCCT Discussion Group 2017, Hilary Term W8
Firmly resolved, nonetheless, not to sleep, he sat down on the room’s only chair, put off packing the suitcase
for the time being, since he had the whole night in which to do so, and leafed through the bible a little without
reading anything. Then he picked up his parents’ photograph, in which his little father was standing upright,
while his mother sat leaning back a bit in the armchair in front of him. His father was holding the back of the
armchair with one hand, while the other, clenched to form a fist, was placed on an illustrated book which was
lying open on a fragile ornamental table beside him. There was also a photograph on which he was portrayed
with his parents, his father and mother were looking at him intently, while he, following the instructions of the
photographer, had had to look at the camera. That photograph, however, had not been given to him for his
journey.
He looked all the more carefully at the one in front of him and tried to meet his father’s gaze from various
angles. But his father, however much he changed his view by holding the candle in different positions,
wouldn’t come to life, and his thick horizontal moustache didn’t at all resemble the reality, it was not a good
picture. His mother, though, was portrayed much better, her lips were twisted as though she had been hurt
and was trying to smile. He felt that anyone looking at the picture must find this so obvious that the next
moment he felt this impression was too powerful and almost absurd. How could a picture impart so strongly
the unshakeable conviction that the person portrayed was concealing their emotion? And he looked away
from the picture for a while. When his gaze returned to it, he noticed his mother’s hand hanging down from
the front of the arm of the chair, close enough to kiss. He wondered whether it might be good to write to his
parents, as they had both asked him to do.
and now the author’s identity will be revealed…
Franz Kafka (1883-1924)
Der Verschollene
(The Man Who Disappeared),
translated from German
by Ritchie Robertson (2012)
‘Kafkaesque’
Kafka ‘had no discernible World-View to share in his work, no guiding philosophy, only
dazzling tales to deliver out of an extraordinarily acute subconscious. At best, an
identifiable MOOD pervades his work, mysterious and difficult to pinpoint. Which has
allowed the “pork-butchers” of modern culture to turn him into an ADJECTIVE’.
David Zane Mairowitz & Robert Crumb
Firmly resolved, nonetheless, not to sleep, he sat down on the room’s only chair, put off packing the suitcase
for the time being, since he had the whole night in which to do so, and leafed through the bible a little without
reading anything. Then he picked up his parents’ photograph, in which his little father was standing upright,
while his mother sat leaning back a bit in the armchair in front of him. His father was holding the back of the
armchair with one hand, while the other, clenched to form a fist, was placed on an illustrated book which was
lying open on a fragile ornamental table beside him. There was also a photograph on which he was portrayed
with his parents, his father and mother were looking at him intently, while he, following the instructions of the
photographer, had had to look at the camera. That photograph, however, had not been given to him for his
journey.
He looked all the more carefully at the one in front of him and tried to meet his father’s gaze from various
angles. But his father, however much he changed his view by holding the candle in different positions,
wouldn’t come to life, and his thick horizontal moustache didn’t at all resemble the reality, it was not a good
picture. His mother, though, was portrayed much better, her lips were twisted as though she had been hurt
and was trying to smile. He felt that anyone looking at the picture must find this so obvious that the next
moment he felt this impression was too powerful and almost absurd. How could a picture impart so strongly
the unshakeable conviction that the person portrayed was concealing their emotion? And he looked away
from the picture for a while. When his gaze returned to it, he noticed his mother’s hand hanging down from
the front of the arm of the chair, close enough to kiss. He wondered whether it might be good to write to his
parents, as they had both asked him to do.