Out of all of the terrible yet relatable things that happened to Kafka, the letter to his father struck me the most. I know very well what it's like to have an overbearing, cold, distant, psychologically and physically abusive father and I know what it's like to try and look for forgiveness and connection. And yet I can't imagine the unending whirlpool of anxiety and fear that the days after he gave the letter to his mother were and how defeating it must have felt to get the letter back. All the fear and anxiety and even worse, the hopes and dreams of reconnection and understanding all gone because of his mothers cowardice. His innermost thoughts and feelings, rejected, deemed unsatisfactory. I should read his books again.