This novel is completely different from all the others Kafka's works. I mean, it's not kafkaesque, it's picaresque. Amerika has something of Dickens and it doesn't seem written by an european novelist.
Kafka has written about the myth of a new world seen like a land of false possibilities where a new Candide, the young Karl, is pushed and pulled away by circumstances.
It's a real pity that this novel is unfinished. I've loved the final and totally independent chapter about The Nature Theatre of Oklahoma. Who knows where Kafka wanted to take his Karl after that.