Why Kafka?

I do not mean to be obtuse. The use of reference without explanation has always seemed pseudo-intellectual, a shield against access to ideas by the uninitiated. So I will explain to you what the little fable is, what I think it means, why I have chosen to build my thinking around it, and what I hope to gain from the experience. In its literal sense, A Little Fable is the title of the following parable by Franz Kafka:

Alas," [said the mouse,] "the whole 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 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.

From Peter Kuper, Give it Up: And Other Short Stories. Kuper is a visual artist and his illustrations of Kafka's short works are sublime.

It is unlikely that the literal explanation for the title has clarified anything. You probably need more specifics. So: why did I steal Kafka's title for my own?

Certainly, I do not consider myself to be tormented in the modish gothic sense. Nor do I hope to cobble expressive genius from his work. Indeed, if I pictured myself a contemporary Kafka, I should have finished this blog long since with a flourish. Unlike an old roommate who confused clarity with simplicity, I do not think that I can write as well as Kafka. I do think, however, that Kafka is universal and relevant to my experience on this planet. Let me explain.

A Little Fable has innumerable interpretations, any of which can seem apropos in any given mood or moment. In this text, clarity of prose obscures the shadows of ambiguity: Kafka's genius is in not providing the reader with context: we are forced to contribute our own interpretation to understand the text.

For example, I might be the mouse: my life is a narrowing point, and I have been unaware that my life has been controlled by outside forces. A pleasing thought, to be sure. Or, I might be the cat -- aha! I can see the trick, and those stupid mice are running into traps unnecessarily. Or, I might be the cat's owner: isn't the cat equally ignorant of the world outside? Which of the innumerable interpretations you see first depends on you. The question of what drove Kafka to write this fable interests me only in the vaguest historical sense. Instead, I want to know: who am I?