Often when considering Beckett’s influences, the name of Kafka crops up. It is easy to understand why: both artists are on either side of that great schism of the twentieth century culminating in the Second World War, both resist traditional narrative values and call language itself into question. Neither have much to say about it. Beckett’s comments on Kafka, characteristically taciturn, from a New York Times interview of 1956, do little to reveal his position on the topic. Mark Harman calls attention to this interview both in the introduction to his translation of The Castle and in an earlier essay, “Digging the Pit of Babel.” Harman postulates that the Beckett of 1956 who had just escaped Joyce’s shadow was not eager to slip over into that of Kafka. Beckett claimed that the only serious reading he had done of Kafka was The Castle, “except for a few things in French and English” (Harman 1996, 306). Harman detects, “in those comments a whiff of what Harold Bloom calls the anxiety of influence” (ibid.), acknowledging the critical precedent of reading Beckett’s Watt as indebted to The Castle, set by Ruby Cohn and Edith Kern. I want to look at how critics have struggled to prove textually that Kafka influenced Beckett, but also how the question of affinity might be explored more fruitfully through translation, specifically Harman’s use of Beckett’s Trilogy to re-translate Kafka’s The Castle.

From the early 1950s, critics have connected Beckett with Kafka’s work: for instance, in 1952 Richard Seaver noted “the links to Kafka and Joyce, the role of a writer in exile, the switch from English to French, the increasing subjectivity, and the resistance of his work to conventional modes of analysis” (7); and in 1955, Philip Toynbee placed Beckett’s Molloy in “a fictional tradition which has flowed from Kafka through Sartre, Camus, and Genet” (74) and argues that Moran, in Molloy, “appears to be the agent of a mysterious power [straight out of Kafka, this]” (ibid).  In recent years, some scholars have moved from making general comparative links between the two writers to an attempt to prove, in textual detail, Kafka’s direct influence on Beckett.  In 2004, G.M. Kalinowski examined the same 1956 interview as Harman and makes a few bold claims regarding Watt, sometimes reaching what I take to be as flights of intentional fallacy. Claiming “correspondences between the two novels need not be simple and single or reversible” (321), Kalinowski goes on to observe several strictly possible instances of Beckett intentionally echoing or making reference to Kafka and K. Kalinowski begins with the same paragraph that Harman examines. However, in an admittedly bold attempt to go beyond the established view of the relationship between Kafka and Beckett, Kalinowski makes a leap: the jumping-off point is Beckett’s “’I’ve only read Kafka in German—serious reading—except for a few things in French and English—only ‘The Castle’ in German” (ibid, my emphasis). Kalinowski aims to suggest direct links between The Castle and Watt. In the second footnote, Kalinowski observes of the critical precedent regarding the two authors “almost all of this commentary has focused on affinities in mood and/or motif, contrasts in form, and general determinations of Beckett’s inheritance from Kafka. The question of a direct link appears to have been skirted partly out of an excessive respect for Beckett’s artistic autonomy” (318). From this determination, Kalinowski sets forth to catalogue every possible instance of direct Kafkan influence on Watt. Though the argument itself is compelling and its goal brave, the formulations seem to, perhaps appropriately, fall apart when the examination gets close: Observing of the relationship between Hackett and Watt, Kalinowski makes a bit much of Mr. Nixon’s May. ‘The curious thing is, my dear Hackett, I tell you quite frankly, that when I see him, or think of him, I think of you, and when I see you, I think of him’ [Watt 16]—the words ‘quite frankly’ may allude to Kafka’s first name, and the sequence ‘when I see him, or think of him, I think of you’ may signal Beckett’s awareness of the threadbare narrative difference between Kafka and K. (323, my emphasis)

Kalinowski’s attempt here, and I think I have this right, ultimately remainders itself. Though the suggestions at the end of the essay are good, the method relies on qualifiers. That is, in one sense, appropriate enough. However, I think the innocence of this presupposition may be called to answer. Kalinowski makes great use of possible puns that would directly link Beckett to Kafka, but without explicit say-so. Kalinowski is forced to weaken claims by such qualification. Late in the essay, she says the claims are “not a matter of influence” but that Watt is, rather, a reading of The Castle distilled through the fixed lights of Beckett’s authorship… Each of Beckett’s texts draws itself out of its antecessors in a vermicular succession or series and extraneous elements are only admitted insofar as they combine,  unpredictably, with Beckett’s enduring interests. Yet insofar as Watt appropriates and combines with elements of The Castle Kafka may also have some bearing on later Beckettian texts. (328)

After this qualifier, Kalinowski concludes the essay with a teetering sentiment: “We are, in short, always left to make what we like of it [her emphasis]—a sentiment that is expressed at least once in as many words [my emphasis] in The Castle [39, Muirs’ translation], and which also constitutes a leitmotif in Watt” (329). It seems that Kalinowski’s argument, strong in places, relies on qualifier after qualifier, to the point where indeed the “direct link” she makes between Kafka and Beckett is made out of what “we” like.

Both Kalinowski and Harman deal with a single paragraph of Shenker’s interview, though the ideas they espouse must take into account the rest of Beckett’s statement. Where Harman gives us the half of the statement that immediately informs his argument and Kalinowski formulates, Beckett goes on, “At the end of my work there’s nothing but dust—the nameable. In the last book, L’Innommable—there’s complete disintegration. No ‘I,’ no ‘have,’ no ‘being.’ No nominative, no accusative, no verb. There’s no way to go on” (148). From there on out in the interview Beckett does not mention Kafka again; ample reason for the aforementioned scholars to ignore the following formulations for their own work. However, I am interested in its implication. Beckett goes on to talk about Joyce, making a further distinction between the work of the “master” and his own. Beckett’s deft avoidance of indebted acknowledgment occurs simultaneously with the acknowledgment of influence with the caveat of its artistic boundary, the impossibility of total influence, at once acknowledging and stripping away. If one tends to draw parallels, why not make the connection between Beckett’s shrinking possibilities and Kafka’s decision to leave The Castle off at midsentence? It could speak volumes as to the shared artistic vision of the two authors. That they have much in common is beyond a doubt, but there appears to be little to do beyond either formulation à la Kalinowski or keeping to respectful acknowledgment maintaining separation of Cohn, et al.

One way we might read influence is through translation. In Kafka Translated: How Translators Have Shaped our Reading of Kafka, Michelle Woods interviews Mark Harman about his translations of Kafka. The question of Beckett’s influence on Harman’s translation, thus that of Kafka’s transfiguration in Beckett, both influence and subsequent subject of influence in translation, is writ large. The chapter on Harman’s translations begins with a quote from the interview. Harman says, “My ears grew up in Ireland” (Woods 79), meaning that, as a translator, Harman makes use of his native Irish colloquy in expressing the meaning of Kafka’s prose that might have no equivalent in standard English diction. There are several takes on Harman’s approach to translating Kafka, many of which mix praise and blame in the discussion of that approach. None of them acknowledge Harman’s “Irish background, his translation expertise, or his background as a Kafka scholar” (Woods 93). J.M. Coetzee epitomizes this approach in his piece from The New York Review of Books, “Kafka: Translators on Trial.” Coetzee takes particular umbrage with the word “shambles” that Harman uses for ‘familienwirtschaft,’ arguing that “family setup” would be a fitter translation, more literal in any case. Coetzee claims that “shambles” (being, in its most literal English usage, the word for ‘a flesh or meat market’ [OED), “introduces ideas of blood and death not present in the original” (Coetzee 85). If we are to take Coetzee at his word, we were to ignore the colloquial usage of “shambles” almost altogether. The word itself dates to the ninth century, originally referring to a type of footstool and eventually coming to refer to a butcher’s table, naturally gaining a connotation of slaughter, but from this connotation arises the later usage, preserved in various dialects, that takes the form of a byword for “mess.”  Coetzee argues that “family setup” would be a preferable alternative to Harman’s “shambles,” but in doing so I think he beggars the point by not accounting for a more general understanding of the word. Harman not only set out to provide a more literal translation of Kafka’s original manuscript; he also took into account the style of its interpretation. Like the Muirs, Harman suits translation to the time, necessarily pulling away from the former ideology. So, “shambles” in this way reflects that notion.

Woods notes that as he was translating The Castle, Harman was re-reading Beckett’s Trilogy in order to situate the voice in Kafka’s novel and when finishing his translation of The Castle, Harman wrote three articles on Joyce, Beckett, and Kafka; the third of which “‘At Least He Could Garden: Beckett and Kafka” (1999) refers to Kafka’s diary entry: ‘Gardening. No hope for the future.’ And Beckett’s retort: ‘At least he could garden’ [Harman 1998b]. “Beckett’s determination to distance himself from Kafka just heightens the obvious affinity between the two in their mordant humor” (Woods 96). One is forcibly reminded of Israel Shenker’s description of Beckett’s country house: “The garden plot was covered with stones, and Beckett toiled long hours to clear the site and coax a lawn from the earth” (SB: The Critical Heritage 147). Harman remarks deep instances of influence that are far more probable that the perhaps-too-literal reading done by Kalinowski above. For Harman, there is an affinity between Beckett and Kafka that cannot be put down to nothing, as it seems Beckett would have had it. Harman asserts that Beckett was the first to note the odd discrepancy in Kafka’s third and final novel between the lack of action-the hero K. goes round and round in circles and never penetrates through to the mysterious Castle-and the relentless momentum of the language itself which presses on and on in a manner that anticipates Beckett’s own version of the steamroller effect in his Molloy trilogy. Sometimes it takes an outsider with the linguistic discernment of a Beckett to spot essential characteristics of foreign masterworks.

Woods notes that “Harman’s point is astute… Beckett as a linguistic ‘outsider’ seems to show an interest here in the tension between physical stasis [Malone dying in his bed, obsessively circling around ideas] and movement [in the use of syntax and repetition] in language that becomes so evident in his own work” (97). What follows in both Harman’s article, and Woods’ explication/analysis/defense of his work are literal affinities, especially between such sentences as the two from Kafka’s The Castle and Beckett’s Malone Dies that Woods analyzes (Harman 576 & Woods 98). The similarities between these two sentences set apart the question of influence in a way beyond some considerations of either direct or indirect or translated considerations. Woods traces these similarities to lead into her final section on Harman’s translation, “Waiting for Klamm” (100). “Das Warten auf Klamm” was the original title of the eighth chapter of The Castle, excised by Max Brod and restored in the 1982 critical edition (Woods 100). Woods notes, “It would be impossible for someone seeing that chapter title not to think about Beckett; it, in some ways, comes into meaning after Kafka’s death, because we are reading Kafka—post 1982 (and in English post-1998)—after Beckett” (ibid.).

The conclusion I draw from analysis of the artistic affinities between the two writers is that the direct influence from Kafka to Beckett is, after the work of Harman and Woods, difficult to deny and dangerous to equivocate. The nature of the influence is delineated well enough in these current critical works surrounding the translation of Kafka to allow new approaches to examine the influence of Kafka on Beckett, and to continue in the vein of translation that allows Mark Harman to make use of Beckett’s style in the rendering of Kafka. As Woods notes, “We can see Kafka in Beckett and, thanks to Harman, Beckett in Kafka” (101). Perhaps not only can we see this formulation of influence, but may be remiss to ignore it in future.

Ruby Cohn writes of Beckett’s result in translating Fin de Partie into Endgame: “… Despite his apparent lack of zest for the task, Beckett carried it out with customary brilliance and fidelity to the French original” (617). As I have noted, Kafka had no such advantage as self-translation during his lifetime: in fact no English translation, no critical reception. Beckett’s advantage in his long life and polyglot aptitude, his determination to render his own works as he saw fit, gave him the advantage of denying the influence that we in the latter day can read as but a pose. I would say that it was both out of the fear of influence (That Harman calls a step ‘to prevent his being perceived as a Kafka epigone’ [‘Garden’ 574]) and the fear of artistic determinism that drove Beckett to disavow Kafka’s direct influence on his work. If he had acknowledged the influence any further than what he did in Shenker’s interview, without the clear disavowal that he gives regarding consternation and form, Beckett’s life work would have been irrepressibly dogged by an intellectually deterministic reading of each new work alongside Kafka, even where it was not warranted in the least.

It is worth noting that the gardener-Beckett of Shenker’s interview is no longer the Beckett of the Kafka journal comment. Harman says,

As for Beckett himself, his rivalry with Kafka persisted until the very end. In a letter to a friend in 1983 the already ailing Beckett complains of feeling ‘inertia and void as never before’ and recalls an entry in Kafka’s diary: ‘Gardening. No hope for the future.’ But Beckett has a trump card up his sleeve. Clearly savoring an opportunity to outdo Kafka’s pessimism, he adds wryly: ‘At least he could garden.’ (579)

It seems that, to Beckett, him being doubtless aware of the critical affinity for likening him to Kafka, the only way forward was to use one of his first interviews to tantalize that critical affinity: Beckett both forswears and admits to having read Kafka and formed a detailed opinion, but says no more on that account than he absolutely must. Affinity consists in nothing less.

Works Cited

Beckett, Samuel. The Letters of Samuel Beckett: 1929-1940. Cambridge UP, 2009.

—. Three Novels: Molloy, Malone Dies, The Unnamable. Grove Press, 2009

Coetzee, J.M. Stranger Shores: Literary Essays. Penguin, 2001.

Cohn, Ruby. “Samuel Beckett Self-Translator.” PMLA. Vol. 76, No. 5. Pp. 613-621. Modern Language Association. 1961.

Frye, Northrop. “Northrop Frye in ‘Hudson Review.’” Samuel Beckett: The Critical Heritage. Edited by Lawrence Graver and Raymond Federman. Routledge & Kegan Paul. 1979. Pp. 206-214.

Harman, Mark. “’Digging the Pit of Babel’: Retranslating Kafka’s ‘Castle’.” New Literary History. Vol. 27, No. 2. Pp. 291-311. Johns Hopkins UP. 1996.

— “At Least He Could Garden: Beckett and Kafka.” Partisan Review. Vol.66, Iss.4. pp. 574-579. Partisan Review. 1999.

Kafka, Franz. The Castle. Translated by Mark Harman. Schocken Books, 1998.

Kalinowski, G.M. “Beckett’s ‘Reversed Metamorphosis’: What Constitutes a Serious Reading of ‘The Castle’?” Comparative Literature. Vol. 56, No. 4. pp. 317-330. Duke UP. 2004.

Muir, Edwin. “‘More Pricks than Kicks’ in ‘Listener.’” Samuel Beckett: The Critical Heritage. Edited by Lawrence Graver and Raymond Federman. Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1979. pp. 42-43.

The Oxford English Dictionary Online.  Oxford University, 2017, oed.com.libdatabase.newpaltz.edu.

Pingaud, Bernard. “Bernard Pingaud in ‘Esprit.’” Translated by Francoise Longhurst. Samuel Beckett: The Critical Heritage. Edited by Lawrence Graver and Raymond Federman. Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1979. Pp. 67-70.

Seaver, Richard. “Richard Seaver in ‘Merlin.’” Samuel Beckett: The Critical Heritage. Edited by Lawrence Graver and Raymond Federman. Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1979. pp. 79-87.

Shenker, Israel. “Israel Shenker in ‘New York Times.’” Samuel Beckett: The Critical Heritage. Edited by Lawrence Graver and Raymond Federman. Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1979. pp. 146-149.

Thomas, Dylan. “Dylan Thomas in ‘New English Weekly.’” Samuel Beckett: The Critical Heritage. Edited by Lawrence Graver and Raymond Federman. Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1979. pp. 46-47.

Toynbee, Philip. “Philip Toynbee in ‘Observer.’” Samuel Beckett: The Critical Heritage. Edited by Lawrence Graver and Raymond Federman. Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1979. pp. 73-76.

Updike, John. “John Updike in ‘New Yorker.’” Samuel Beckett: The Critical Heritage. Edited by Lawrence Graver and Raymond Federman. Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1979. pp. 254-257.

Weller, Shane. “Beckett and Late Modernism.” The New Cambridge Companion to Samuel Beckett. Pp. 89-102. Edited by Dirk Van Hulle. Cambridge UP, 2015.

Woods, Michelle. Kafka Translated: How Translators Have Shaped Our Reading of Kafka. Bloomsbury, 2014.