title: Kafka's Prague: A Travel Reader
author:  Klaus Wagenbach 
description: Franz Kafka rarely left his home town of Prague. At 19, he wrote &quot;Prague doesn't let go. This little mother has claws.&quot; And though he complained often to his diary that he needed to get away, he spent most of his 41 years (1883-1924) firmly Prague-rooted. Prague is where Kafka wrote <a href="/exec/obidos/ISBN=0553213695/${0}"><i>The Metamorphosis</i></a>, <a href="/exec/obidos/ISBN=0805210407/${0}"><i>The Trial</i></a>, and <a href="/exec/obidos/ISBN=0805210393/${0}"><i>The Castle</i></a>, and where he lived and worked. A fan of Kafka might want to see the houses (nearly all still standing) where Kafka lived and the parks he strolled. Likewise, fans of Prague get an expanded understanding of the city through Kafka's eyes. This erudite and beautifully compiled <i>Travel Reader</i> is not only a guide to the Prague that Kafka knew, but also a guide to the Kafka that Prague knew.
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  Dedication
  
   _For Helen, one last time_
  
  Contents
  
   _Cover_
  
   _Title Page_
  
   _Dedication_
  
  Chapter I
  
  Chapter II
  
  Chapter III
  
  Chapter IV
  
  Chapter V
  
  Chapter VI
  
  Chapter VII
  
  Chapter VIII
  
  Chapter IX
  
  Chapter X
  
  Chapter XI
  
  Chapter XII
  
  Chapter XIII
  
  Chapter XIV
  
   _About the Author_
  
   _Also by Thomas King_
  
   _Copyright_
  
   _About the Publisher_
  
   **I**
  
   **I** n Prague, we stay at the Hotel Certovka in the shadow of the historic
  Charles Bridge. Second floor. Some of the rooms overlook the Vltava River.
  
  Ours doesn’t.
  
  However, we can see the tourists on the bridge, can hear them talking, as they
  stroll from the Lesser Quarter to Old Town and back again, and if we were so
  inclined, we could lean out our window and engage them in conversation.
  
  We don’t.
  
  But we could.
  
  We arrive at our hotel after a twelve-hour flight from Toronto. The room is
  hot. There is no air conditioner, no ceiling fan to push the heat around.
  We’re exhausted. We fall onto the bed, thin