On arrival we saw a man in the shop reading a book, after persuing our own interests for a while the shopkeeper asked him to buy the book or leave. After a short discussion he left. Our turn came to buy the tickets and he took a little of his anger out on us. The museum has no staff, it seems no one ever checked our tickets. Inside you will find an interesting perspective on the life of Kafka, his loves and his writings. Certainly gives a new appreciation for the man, though it may be better to be familiar with his books before visiting.

As in all exhibits concerning literature: more reading than seeing.
However there is a wonderful little movie depicting Prague at Kafka's time.
A lot of information about his life, his relationship to his father, his abhorence of his job in that it kept him from writing, his relationships with women.

Kafka is not exactly known for writing light-hearted fiction, and this superb little museum is built to match that mood. Visitors walk through lengthy, dark corridors with exhibits of letters, photos, and other documents (it is clearly stated that they are facsimiles, so, no, they are not originals, and no attempt is made to convince visitors otherwise) that serve to contextualizing Kafka. In a city that seems to encourage entrepreneurs to open up shady, overpriced, and disappointing museums in any spare room they may have available in their apartments, this experience came as a most welcome surprise. We were, however, initially suspicious about the place due to the fact that we were “greeted” by a rather unpleasant employee at the reception desk; we prefer to assume that her vacant and disagreeable manner was an act to make our visit more Kafkaesque.