Abstract

This essay - against an often edifying and tending interpretation of transcendence - intends to show the obsessive presence in Kafka's work of "everyday life" in its most ordinary, but also more excruciating, aspects. This daily "informal" dimension is charged to the writer (also on the biographical level) of continuous breakages, with respect to the surrounding external world, which incessantly wound him. It not only retains the Kafka's mental universe within an unsurpassable "hopeless" immanence, but gives its writing a characteristic "disjointed" and unfinished form.