Living in the Kafkian world is not such a banality, despite the frequent use of metaphor. The world of Beckett, for example, is much more inhuman, the Joyce world itself is more difficult, and to live, say, in the world of Ionesko is really worse, but everything is quickly ending. But in the world of Kafka you can live - this is precisely unbearable life, the world of quiet horror; The threat here is always ethereal, invisible, not formulated - but relentless, inevitable, endless.