Should I blame my father? Kafka blamed his.
My father, who long ago re-located to the world Kafka also inhabits, put this annoying impediment into my mind. Whenever he read an article (regardless of how he praised it), if he found an inaccuracy, he would question if he could therefore believe any of it. If there's one mistake in it, then . . .
I have been following (via the Internet) the trip through Europe (occurring until next week) of the group hunting for "lost" Kafka writings. I already have some hesitations about it, as there are too many 'tourist' destinations for my taste. This is probably an aspect which attracted others, so fair is fair. However, in a description of the house on Alchemist Lane, where Kafka wrote many short stories (and is a major location of my own novel), the wrong dates of his residency are given. Not a mistake of days, but of years. I expect (and find) such inaccuracies in tourist brochures, but not in this enterprise.
That said, I am greatly interested in this trip, and am finding out things I did not know through links and referrals. For instance, I would dearly love to have a possession of Kafka's. I had only heard of a tea cup from his Institute office, which his secretary supposedly kept. There is a writing desk of some dispute in (I believe) a museum. There are some of the books from his personal library. But here I learn of (and see a photo of) his hair brush, passed down through a family until sold at auction (I don't know the price).
And - of course - there is Kafka's dick, but Alan Bennett has usurped a primacy over that.