Brod and Brod

We're Brod and Brod, we agree, and neither of us is Kafka. Neither of us; but we can dream, can't we, of the imaginary Kafka we would fawn over and whose work we would promote? We can dream of our fervid works of commentary and our public statements – always needlessly simplifying, always full of empty pathos and sham hagiography - on behalf of our friend.

We can dream of nursing him through his final sickness and then of preserving his work for posterity. He'd ask us to throw it all away, all his unfinished drafts and private correspondence, but what would we do? Publish it piece by piece for a grateful humanity, with our stupid editorial comments that generations of scholars would read to one another in disgust and amusement.