In my off-hours this week, I’ve been absorbing The Lost Writings of Franz Kafka. This little book is an enchanting diversion from social media. It also made me realize I’d been in a reading rut. Not for lack of reading, or even good reading material, but for lack of joy.
It is funny that a writer such as Kafka could bring me joy. (The sketch about the bread loaf that refused to be cut was downright hilarious.) Yet in these forgotten excerpts, there is a gentleness and humor that pulls you in, without neglecting the darker shadows of life that he, like us, knew only too well. Kafka shows a human, even tender, side in scraps of writing such as “I can swim as well as the others…“, “I loved a girl who loved me back…“, and “I am fighting; no one knows it…” Then the irony—that he wanted all of this burned!
I am grateful, selfishly perhaps, there is still more Kafka to be read.
This will be my family’s smallest Thanksgiving yet, I think—just us. It’s technically illegal to meet with multiple families here, but we wouldn’t anyway because of my grandparents’ health. It will feel a little strange, compared to past years, but I’m glad we can still celebrate even in a small way. I’ll be contributing for the first time (baking cookies!), and Friday we’re putting up the big Christmas tree. So it should be a good time in spite of everything.
I have quite a stack of books to read and am hoping to make a dent in it this weekend. If all goes well, expect a slew of reviews!
I hope you all have lovely Thanksgiving if you celebrate, and a great day regardless. I’m so grateful for all of you!
Classics Considered 
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