Kafka was really tall!

It’s such a trivial thing, but I’ve been thinking about it all week.

How tall? Well, 5’11, to be precise. Or 1.8 meters.1 Now some of you might argue that this isn’t really tall at all. Indeed, a quick online query shows that Flaubert and Baudelaire were about the same height. And then there’s the gargantuan figure of Oscar Wilde, who at 6’ 3 towered over most of his (literary) peers.

But still, there’s something about Kafka being tall that fascinates me…

In the picture below, you can see him standing next to his sister, Ottla. They look about the same height, until you see that Kafka is actually standing one step lower than her on the stairs.

Of course Kafka’s height doesn’t really matter, or does it? Does the mythos of Kafka somehow entail that we have to imagine him small and weak? I’d always imagined Kafka as a rather slight, even diminutive figure, obsessed with the idea of ‘expanding his chest’ and growing in physical stature (he used the so-called “Müller system”, which advised doing calisthenics in one’s underwear in front of an open window every morning…). His physical ailments, neuroses, and general (comedic) awareness of his own limitations…all of these are hallmarks of his writing. A dedication to a form of writing which seemed to me to suggest a desire to disappear completely. In other words, the Kafka that existed in my mind was a bit “frail”, and definitely not 5”11.

Here’s another photo, of Kafka standing and looking quite lanky and tall. It was featured on the cover of the British publication of his diaries. Looking at it now, I can see that he does indeed seem quite tall.

Does it matter that Kafka was tall? Not at all. But it encourages us to reconsider the tropes surrounding Kafka, and the so-called Kafka-industry or mythos. Against the image of the doom-laden, dark scribbler of “Kafka-esque” musings, foreshadowing the horrors and alienation of the 20th century, we also have the witty, lively, joyful, and exuberant Kafka. To reduce Kafka to a simplified image of existential despair is to lose the much more interesting complexities and ambiguities reflected both in his work and his life. In that sense, re-considering Kafka might also include a playful awareness of his rather tall stature, and how it clashes with our perceived notions of who he was. To re-examine Kafka is to discover a new Kafka, one who seems more alive and vital than ever. And in this sense too, Kafka looms large.

Julian

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