The boy complains of pain and begs the doctor to let him die. The girl appeared at the gate, alone. As he is all set to go, the maid returns into the house with the unknown man following her. As the doctor kicks open the door to his pigsty, a mysterious groom appears and supplies him with a pair of horses and secures them to the carriage. My own horse had died the previous night, as a result of overexertion in this icy winter. But right away they stood up straight, long legged, with thick steaming bodies. A glass of rum is prepared for me.
But no sooner has she reached him than the groom throws his arms around her, and thrusts his face against hers. As everywhere else in Kafka's work, the hero does not commit a crime or even a grave error. These works are characterized by a complexity that seems senseless, surreal, or menacing. I take some tweezers, test them in the candle light, and put them back. My fur coat hangs behind the wagon, but I cannot reach it, and no one from the nimble rabble of patients lifts a finger. Clouds move in front of the moon.
The reins dragging loosely, one horse barely harnessed to the other, the carriage swaying behind, last of all the fur coat in the snow. The doctor assures his patient that his wound is not lethal, and promptly leaves the room, grabbing his clothes and instruments as he does. It seems somehow appropriate that the dreamlike narrative has been transmuted into a form and language unknown to Kafka. The horses, meanwhile, having somehow freed themselves of their straps, have opened the window and are neighing frantically. Nonetheless, he — the doctor as well as the sick young man knew that he could no longer do anything to cure his sickness. Each one is sticking its head through a window and, unmoved by the crying of the family, is observing the invalid. In the use of present tense, the narrating and the narrated self converge as do the narrated time and the time of narration , so that we must imagine the Country Doctor telling his tale while standing naked on his sled, suspended between his home and the house in the village.
The mother stands by the bed and entices me over. The girl appeared at the gate, alone. Note how this duality in the structure of Kafka's narrative harmonizes with the thematic of duality and splitting at the level of content, or in the fictional world of the story. Here's a good story for a cold December night: Franz Kafka's cryptic, hallucinatory tale of Written in Prague during the icy winter of 1916-1917, Kafka's story unfolds in one long paragraph like a fevered nightmare. That confirms what I know: the young man is healthy. A man huddled down in the stall below showed his open blue-eyed face. And in fact, the man was about to continue writing, but he could not, something was hindering him, he lowered the pencil and turned to K.
I strode across the yard once more; I could see no possibility; distracted, tormented, I kicked at the rickety door of a pig-sty unused for many years. Nor does he bother to view the wound as the result of the complex but undeniable interrelationship between physical and psychological factors of which Kafka himself was very much aware. She screams out and runs over to me. The people were happy once again, because the doctor started to take charge. There are many who offer their flanks, and barely hear the axe in the forest, never mind it deigning to come any nearer to them.
The groom represents Kafka's sometimes almost obsessive fear of a sexually superior rival. Note the similar reflex to shift blame onto others in our previous text, Schnitzler's Lieutenant Gustl. Analysis of 'A Country Doctor' Kafka's style is best described as literary modernism, which is a movement characterized by a conscious break with the pretenses of traditional narrative and verse styles, with the aim of expressing the sensibilities of the current age. At times, however, he could barely glimpse the mound, it was covered with flags that twisted and flapped powerfully against one another; the flag bearers could not be seen, but there appeared to be great rejoicing. Unfortunately, he is in need of a horse for his carriage, referred to as a trap, but his own steed has perished one night earlier.
A man, hunkered down in the low-ceilinged sty, showed his open-featured, blue-eyed face. A dim stall lantern on a rope swayed inside. What am I supposed to do? The carriage is torn away, like a piece of wood in a current. And they come, the family and the village elders, and are taking my clothes off. From there, they cannot help, the point being that they have lost the capability of doing that long ago. In portraying this nightmare, Kafka has succeeded in portraying the situation of the man who wants to help but cannot. A series of events occur in the process, including the appearance of a mysterious stablehand in a pig shed.
They have lost their old faith; the minister sits at home and picks apart his vestments, one by one, but the doctor is expected to fix everything with his fine surgical hand. I've done my best, indeed, all that is humanly possible, but these others are the cause of my failure. It is no accident that the world Kafka presents here is a spiritually barren one. Follow Blog via Email Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email. Warm air and a horsey smell greeted me.