This is a conversation overheard two weeks ago in a room full of energetic four-year-olds: A few kids are talking about their younger siblings. The teacher asks Matthew, "You have a brother, too, don't you? Do you have a Thomas?"
"Yes, I have a Thomas," replies Matthew. His little brother Thomas is a few months old.
"Oh," says John, "I have a James. He's a lot of fun during the day, but he gets kinda tired at nght time. So we have to recharge his batteries and then I can play with him in the morning."
Bewildered at this strange speech, the teacher directs her attention to Victoria, who is proudly proclaiming that she, too, has a James. Elizabeth says her brother has a James, but her train is a Thomas the Tank Engine.
Four-year-olds are adorable.
I despise The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka. If you have ever read it, I think you will agree that it is altogether terrible. At the end I thought, "Oh, that was a horrible chapter. I can't wait to see how they fix this mess in the next chapter." Bu when I turned the page, I found.... notes, notes and more notes. One hundred fifty pages of notes. It is such an overanalyzed book. Perhaps becasue it is so bizzare.
To quote the author, from a journal entry a few years before the book's publication, "I am now reading The Metamorphosis at home and find it bad." I quite agree. As with so many books: terrible story; fabulous style.