I stumbled upon this review of the novel “Comedy in a Minor Key” by Hans Keilson: “To be comfortable in the world of the Kafkaesque, one must slowly climb up the literary ladder, page after page, year after year. My journey began with the likes of V.C. Andrews during my tawdry youth, and then eventually reached its pinnacle with Tolstoy, and of course, Kafka. Aside from my literary snobbery (which is nothing short of a veneer – I still love me some Sidney Sheldon), having entered Kafka’s abyss of absurdity and horror makes Hans Keilson’s novel, Comedy in a Minor Key, not only recognizable, but entirely brilliant.”
One more quote from the abyss of book reviewing:
“Comedy in a Minor Key perfectly conveys the trauma that ordinary people experience during their life span. But more importantly, it also imparts the illogical dimensions of oppression that afflict people all over. That misery sometimes cannot be avoided at any cost is the philosophical conclusion that Keilson’s Comedy cleverly relates with pathos and farce.”
Soon a book reviewer will write: “This book is not only recognizable but entirely brilliant. Kafka meets Angela Merkel.”
Poor Kafka. Poor Hans Keilson.
Not everybody gets the abyss they deserve.