"Gregor is a human being in an insect's disguise; his family are insects disguised as people. With Gregor's death their insect souls are suddenly aware that they are free to enjoy themselves."
- Vladimir Nabokov
The Metamorphosis remains, without a doubt, my favorite short story, even after the second and third reading. Usually, what draws me to a book is the prose, style, metaphors, allegory, philosophical digressions, novels of ideas, literary power it conveys... The story itself remains secondary to me. Based on these criteria, The Metamorphosis doesn't exactly fulfill the conditions above to be one of my favorite books. There isn't a single metaphor in the entire story! Except for the main metaphor of the insect. This gives the story a "black and white" feeling.
Kafka's style is clear and precise, and the intonation is formal, like that of a clerk, which stands in stark contrast to the subject matter, which deals with nightmare. Nothing poetic embellishes this grim black and white story. This style, however, emphasizes even more the variety of Kafka's dark imagination, and it seems as if the contrast and unity, substance and style, means and content are perfectly matched. Hence this makes an exception to my literary taste preferences. Kafka stands above other genres, he is unclassifiable. He is among the few (perhaps the only one) who has earned such a unique epithet as "Kafkaesque," which has become a genre in itself.
So, as I was saying, in The Metamorphosis, the transformation into an insect seems to have nothing metaphorical about it, no symbolism, no allegory, it doesn't even appear to be the result of some mistake, curse, or feeling of guilt. It appears as a collection of feelings and spiritual states, mixed within this person, to the extent that it seeks to create an escape route. It's like a kind of creative escape that means nothing other than what it is. I can also say that the sensation created by reading it isn't truly surreal; the abnormal seems to take on a form of normalcy, you adapt to the absurd as if it were a real event, but beyond this, at every moment you can't escape the feeling of anxiety, confusion, because Kafka has already managed to enter your mind without giving you time to raise defensive barriers, as usually happens with us when we sense we will be shocked, or when art leaves us in suspense, or seeks to surprise us off guard.
It takes great skill to do this artistically. Generally, people tend to prepare themselves for external effects, the brain raises some protective mechanisms when it senses it will be frightened, anxious, or surprised; consider when you watch a horror film or one with suspense, where even the background music contributes to amplifying the internal state, but no matter how much this tension is created in us, in a way we are prepared for something terrible, strange or surprising that will happen, so we raise some protective mechanisms against the events that will lead us, so as not to be shocked, terrified and suffer a shock while being unprepared.
Commercial films and books aim to entertain, and usually offer this through means such as action, or by giving different fantasies that make the reader/viewer pretend to be someone else, where life is more attractive and entertaining, and things are more coherent than disappointing reality. Art as a purpose should "awaken," make more "conscious" (we're not counting cases where this purpose often degenerates into pretentiousness and self-masturbation), but in the case of commercial works, it seems as if the purpose isn't to wake you up, on the contrary, the purpose is to put you even more to sleep, to make your sleep as comfortable as possible and dreams as pleasant as possible.
Coincidentally, I was just listening (in the shower) to "Kuturu" by Aleksander Gjoka: "I'm not really rich in life, but in dreams I see myself as king... In pubs together with friends I spend the moon like a gold coin..." This last verse, by the way, is that beautiful metaphor I seek in literature... "I spend the moon like a gold coin," ah how beautiful! Metaphors make life more beautiful. Metaphors are also dangerous, from a metaphor love can be born, Kundera said in "The Unbearable Lightness of Being," but anyway, I digressed, let me gather my thoughts and continue to argue what I started.
So, I was saying that the purpose of art isn't just to entertain. Art is more intellectual and aesthetic, and requires a bit more effort to understand and interpret. In Kafka's books, at no moment will you have the feeling that the author's purpose is to entertain. You don't enter a world where fantasy gives you that pretense that life is more beautiful, more entertaining and active than bitter reality. From here, the reader has lost that consolation that we normally (and necessarily) seek in art, in literature, in cinema.
Thus, we understand that when we know to some degree what art seeks to do, what it asks of us (to entertain or sadden us), we raise some internal protective mechanisms that allow us to choose how much of ourselves we want to give to this art experience. But the total lack of knowledge of the "terrain" in Kafka's literature, the lack of reference and interpretation, the unfamiliarity with the unclassifiable substance, called "Kafkaesque," completely demolishes the walls of protective mechanisms and allows Kafka to enter your mind... This is why the sensation that Kafka's literature leaves you with at the end cannot be precisely defined, you don't know exactly whether you liked it or not, whether you enjoyed that reading or not. What we manage to define is entirely emotional and not logical, the sensation is confused, and instills in us a feeling like anxiety, exactly like Gregor Samsa's nightmare.
We are unprotected, therefore, before this art. Just as we are unprotected in our dreams. The substance it is made of is the same as that of dreams. And dreams are difficult to interpret.
"All of Kafka's art consists in forcing the reader to reread."
- Albert Camus
However, I won't end my review here. I will try to give my reading impressions as well. I don't say interpretation but say to give personal impressions of this nightmare, because it's difficult to interpret something that has dreams as its substance, the bad ones, nightmares.
For many critics (considering the temporal and social context of a Jew amid an anti-Semitic society), the metaphor of the insect is that of a hated and unwanted species in the human environment, something to step on. But the first impression it left me, and I believe it has left anyone, is the metaphor of a sick person, physically or mentally, who gradually loses their abilities and turns into a vulnerable being, who needs care from others, now unable to be self-sufficient even for the most elementary things, and this leads to alienation, to estrangement and detachment from oneself, and from identity, to the fogging of feelings, and finally, to their de-humanization. The transformation into an insect isn't degrading only in the physical aspect, but also in the spiritual one, because now he is no longer an economic means, neither for his manager nor for his family who seemed to depend entirely on the support that Gregor offered. His family were the insects (parasites) who lived off Gregor, but as soon as he is no longer able to work, to be a laborer, his value becomes parasitic. It seems as if work was the only thing he could offer, and this was the only measure of "value" in this family relationship (but entirely societal in fact, in a capitalist society).
From the beginning of the story, he lives an alienated life, he doesn't live and work for himself but only for others.
"If it weren't for my parents' sake, I would have quit this job years ago"
Gregor Samsa expresses at the beginning of the story.
And as soon as one fine day he is unable to work, for reasons unknown to us (perhaps a depressive state), he transforms in the eyes of his family members into a parasite who no longer offers anything, on the contrary, requires care and support. Care and support that they give him only initially when they haven't yet realized this transformation (disability) of Gregor.
It is precisely his sister who continues with some care, and in the end it is she who "realizes" Gregor's condition and decides to get rid of this "burden," so they can be freed and live without this worry that has blocked their lives.
'Dear parents,' says the sister, hitting her head against the wall, 'things cannot continue like this anymore. Perhaps you don't understand this, but I do. I cannot say my brother's name in front of this monster, and so I say better to get rid of that thing.'
The first time in the story that Gregor Samsa is referred to as "thing." "It" is written in the English translation as well. At this point, Gregor for them is no longer a person, but a "thing." Even though Gregor had lived and been treated like an insect before, now he is one too.
He remained in this state of empty and peaceful rumination until he heard the clock tower strike three in the morning. He watched as it slowly began to get light everywhere outside the window too. Then, without his willing it, his head sank down completely, and his last breath flowed weakly from his nostrils.
Now, as final words I would say that... imagine being disabled or with limited abilities and reading The Metamorphosis... who knows what impression it might leave... or having had in your family under your care a person with disability, or with limited abilities, who has become a burden but nevertheless you have self-denied to care for, or in the opposite case, having behaved like Gregor Samsa's family members and "got rid of" that "thing"... who knows what impression it might leave...
Here, I must stop and reflect on my personal experience. For more than a decade, I have been the sole caretaker of my grandparents. Not just a caretaker, but also a nurse and psychologist. My grandfather lived until the age of 100, and my grandmother, still alive at 92, has been paralyzed and disabled for the last 10 years. She requires complete and constant care, unable to take care of herself. These last 10 years, my social life has been significantly limited - I have never gone out after 9 or 10 in the evening, returning home to not leave her alone. These evenings I have spent mostly reading and studying. This experience has brought me into close contact with illness, disability and death, giving me a deeper understanding of the feelings that Kafka describes in his work.
This experience makes me think... can someone truly understand the essence of "The Metamorphosis" without experiencing these kinds of situations themselves? Or having been yourself or having had a family member who suffers from a mental illness, or other disabling diseases, who have undergone a spiritual metamorphosis, who have become alienated and are no longer recognizable... who knows what impression it might leave... Or imagine having lived for years under the exploitative capitalist mechanism, and one fine day you suffer a work accident, a misfortune, or you are no longer capable, or you are fired from work for some reason, and you are no longer able to work and consequently no longer able to support your family... who knows what impression it might leave... Or imagine being raised in a dysfunctional family, full of problems, where human feelings are zero and the only measure of "value" are the material goods you can give... who knows what impression it might leave...
Perhaps in these cases this story would be truly understood and appreciated, simple and seemingly absurd, but a timeless and mysterious masterpiece.
Otherwise, it might even be labeled by some readers not without right (who are used to reading entertaining books, or who have had life without turbulence, or who have been spoiled by family love, and by life, but nevertheless, or precisely for this, often don't know what empathy is, altruism, and cannot see beyond their nose, or who have never had a sick person under their charge and care and have been tested by this, or who have never faced the challenges of life, in the capitalist world, because they have gotten what they wanted without difficulty, or haven't happened to have lost their job, or have failed in life repeatedly. In short, there are people who have never undergone a spiritual metamorphosis in life...) as "boring."
But, I know I'm wrong here after all, because every person has a different life baggage, has been formed differently, and sees and feels things differently. Or simply, in terms of art, has different tastes.
de gustibus non disputandum est - said the cat, while licking its behind.
