“Nobody loves a genius child.” – Langston Hughes
Gifted. A word that goes around at the ripe ages of five and six, can be thought of as a simple way to categorize children who demonstrate exceptional abilities at an early age. Its intent was to recognize and nourish those unique talents, but after a while, it instead led to detrimental, long-term effects in their future. This label often inadvertently leads to isolation and pressure as these particular children feel as though they are different from their peers, yearning for both societal and parental validation, and falling into a vicious cycle of striving for perfection. In my own darkest hours of bearing such a label, I find solace in Kafka’s writing, drawn to its unflinching portrayal of existential angst, alienation, and desire for meaning. A Hunger Artist, in particular, garnered my attention, as it brought back memories of my youth. In the main character’s desperate attempt to find meaning in his self-imposed suffering, it resonated deeply with the existential struggles I had faced. As he grappled with societal indifference and the overall fleeting nature of recognition, I was confronted with my own yearning for validation and significance in a world that often seems indifferent to my existence, finding myself lost after unfulfilling the role of that wretched title. Kafka’s works always possess a distinctive ability to capture the most authentic and unsettling aspects of the human experience, particularly in moments of utter despair and powerlessness. Through his unparalleled aptitude for blending the ordinary with the surreal, Kafka delved deep into the depths of human consciousness in this story; revealing the raw and often grotesque emotions that lurk beneath the surface.
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The story begins with a rather nostalgic sentiment, “At one time the whole town took a lively interest in the hunger artist” (Kafka 1). It signified a period when the hunger artist was at the center of attention, and held complete fascination from the townspeople. This lively interest suggested that his performances were the main source of communal intrigue and entertainment, as people had made sure to buy season tickets, and described it fondly as, “the children’s special treat”. Due to this abundance of engagement with the hunger artist’s fasting acts, it provided him with a deep sense of purpose and validation, as their admiration and curiosity affirmed the value of his unique talent. Reflecting on this, I couldn’t help but recall my own childhood, when I reveled in the recognition I received for my “gifted” academic abilities. Despite my young age and the absence of schooling as of yet, I found myself excelling in education beyond my years. This garnered the admiration and attention from family members that I had so dearly lacked. Having been deemed “gifted” then became my badge of honor, offering solace and validation in a world where I felt out of place.
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It felt strange to feel as if I was in the body of the main character. Every gaze and word of admiration served as a testament to my dedication and skill, providing that deep sense of purpose and accomplishment. As a child, this sort of recognition and praise was pivotal. But why did it change? For the artist, he felt as though there could be more that he could do, especially as suspicions had arisen. This led him to question the true value of his art and the authenticity of the admiration he once received. He pondered a deeper cause for his discontent, expressing it as, “Yet for other reasons, he was never satisfied…perhaps it was dissatisfaction with himself that had worn him down” (2). The hunger artist was plagued by a persistent sense of unfulfillment; his discontentment stemmed not only from external factors but also from an internal sense of inadequacy and self-doubt. Even at the height of his fame, he felt a nagging emptiness that public admiration could not fill. He was on a quest for perfection that he set for himself, unknowingly amiss that he could never fully achieve it. I thought back to the long, dreadful nights of studying, the early mornings of writing notes so that others may copy and study themselves, the skipping meals in order to stay focused on my workload, and how all that left me feeling that horrible emptiness; despite getting the grades I wanted to receive. My family’s interest dissipated soon after, aware that I would continuously be that “perfect” student, and that these “A” s were now the expectation, not an accomplishment. My self-image and worth were constructed on their affirmations, and without it, I was nothing.
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There is an obvious issue in yearning for validation from external sources, as placing one’s self-worth in the hands of others makes it even more vulnerable to the fickle nature of others’ opinions. This dependency on external approval eventually leaves one feeling empty and unsatisfied once the public’s interest waned. It had driven both the artist and myself to push the boundaries of our endurance, yet no amount of external praise could fill the massive void within. The pressure to continuously prove our worth to others exacerbated this sense of inadequacy, eroding self-confidence over time. This persistent displeasure points to a deeper psychological struggle, where self-esteem became entangled with the ever-shifting perceptions of the crowd. This reliance undermines an individual’s ability to derive a sense of worth from within, fostering a fragile self-concept that is easily shattered by criticism or indifference. For the hunger artist, this meant that his entire identity and sense of purpose were built on a precarious foundation. As the public’s interest faded, so did his sense of significance, leaving him grappling with a profound sense of emptiness and self-doubt. For myself, this meant that the entirety of my self-worth was hanging on by a thread, trapped in this desolate landscape of cynicism and worthlessness if not smart enough.
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Though his talent held plenty of internal strife, there was external factors as well. Despite being in the public eye, he remains fundamentally disconnected from those all around him. The nature of his art—fasting for extended periods—requires that physical separation, confining him to a small cage, that literally and metaphorically isolated him from the world. This isolation is twofold. There is the overall physical separation, where the artist is placed on display, cut off from meaningful human interaction. The cage, meant to showcase his talent, becomes a barrier that reinforces his solitude. As spectators gaze at him, fascinated yet detached, the hunger artist’s experience becomes one of loneliness, emphasizing the vastness between his inner world and the external reality. I had been put in similar circumstances, as my school separated me from my peers, throwing me into courses that were with the older students. I felt like a sheep in a wolves’ den, disconnected and trying to survive in an environment where I was always the outsider. The older students viewed me with a mix of curiosity and indifference, much like the townspeople who watched the hunger artist, and though they had acknowledged my abilities, they failed to see the miserable individual beneath the achievements.
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Then there is the inevitable emotional and psychological isolation. The pressure to perform and maintain a certain standard further exacerbated this isolation. For the hunger artist, the relentless pursuit of perfection in his fasting acts created a chasm between him and the rest of society. His unique talent and the extreme nature of his art set him apart from others, making it difficult for him to relate to nor connect with people who do not understand his dedication and suffering. Those whom admire his art do so from a distance, unable to grasp the personal and existential significance it holds for him. His identity and self-worth are so tightly bound to his performance that he becomes alienated from his own needs and desires. This internal conflict worsens his sense of solitude, as he struggles with dissatisfaction and a relentless drive to achieve this unattainable ideal. Similarly, the weight of expectations placed on me to consistently excel academically served as a double-edged sword, gradually widening the gap between myself and my peers. While these expectations were evidence of my perceived abilities and potential, they also became the main source of pressure. As I strived to surpass these lofty standards, the distance between myself and my peers seemed to grow wider with each achievement; whom may have felt overshadowed or perhaps intimidated by my growth. As a result, I found myself in a constant struggle of navigating social circles, with a sense of unease and apprehension, unsure of if I would ever find a place of belonging. But does it ever end?
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The hunger artist’s life ends with this saddening statement, “because I couldn’t find the food I liked. If I had found it, believe me, I should have made no fuss and stuffed myself like you or anyone else” (7). His admission that he couldn’t find the “food” he liked symbolizes a deeper existential void. His fasting, originally thought of as a form of artistic expression, is instead revealed to be the desperate search for something he could never find—true satisfaction. Having reread that part numerous times, I felt immense shame and guilt towards myself. The stark realization that a life could conclude with such a haunting statement struck a deep chord within me. It stressed the terrifying possibility that one’s unrelenting pursuit of fulfillment could easily end in unrecognized despair, with the world moving on without a second thought. Considering my own experiences and struggles with the relentless pursuit of perfection and external validation, I couldn’t help but wonder: What would happen if that were me? If my own life, already marked by an unceasing drive for achievement and a constant feeling of inadequacy, ended in such a way, would anyone notice or care? Would my efforts and sacrifices be swiftly replaced and forgotten, just as the hunger artist’s were?
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As an adult now, finding means of solace and kindness towards myself in regards to education, is a constant uphill battle. Having read another of Kafka’s works led me to deeper contemplation of the value and meaning of one’s pursuits. The fear of being replaced and forgotten, and the failure to succeed emphasized the importance of finding intrinsic satisfaction and fulfillment. It raised more questions about the sources of our self-worth, and how a mere word as gifted would affect one’s adolescence to such a degree. This pressure can stifle personal growth, as one then becomes trapped in a narrow definition of success defined by others. More effort then becomes necessary so that one can acknowledge and embrace the full spectrum of their abilities and interests; beyond the confines of academic or intellectual excellence. It requires unlearning the ingrained notion that worth is tied solely to achievement and instead, cultivating a mindset that values effort, learning, and personal well-being. But that is not easy. Will it ever be?
“Kill him – and let his soul run wild.” – Langston Hughes
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Work Cited:
Hughes, Langston. “The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes, p. 198”, 1995.
Kafka, Franz. A Hunger Artist, 1922.
SWC Review of Books 
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