Franz Kafka's The Metamorphosis is a profound exploration of the human condition, particularly the themes of identity and alienation.
As the protagonist, Gregor Samsa, awakens to find himself transformed into a gigantic insect, his sense of self and his connection to the world around him begin to unravel.
This bizarre transformation serves as a powerful metaphor for the alienation Gregor experiences in his personal and professional life. Through this surreal narrative, Kafka delves deep into the complexities of identity, questioning the nature of selfhood and the societal forces that can isolate and dehumanize individuals.
In this analysis, we will examine how Kafka masterfully weaves these themes into his novella, offering readers a haunting reflection on the fragile nature of human identity.
Gregor Samsa's Shocking Transformation
As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. He was lying on his hard, armor-plated back, and when he lifted his head a little, he could see his dome-like brown belly divided into stiff arched segments, on top of which the bed quilt could hardly keep in position and was about to slide off completely.
His numerous legs, pitifully thin compared to the rest of his bulk, waved helplessly before his eyes.
Gregor's Insect Form
What has happened to me? he thought. It was no dream.
His room, a regular human bedroom, only rather too small, lay quiet between the four familiar walls. Above the table on which a collection of cloth samples was unpacked and spread out—Samsa was a commercial traveler—hung the picture he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and put into a pretty gilt frame.
It showed a lady, with a fur cap on and a fur stole, sitting upright and holding out to the spectator a huge fur muff into which the whole of her forearm had vanished!
Confusion and Realization
Gregor's eyes turned next to the window, and the overcast sky—one could hear raindrops beating on the window gutter—made him quite melancholy.
What about sleeping a little longer and forgetting all this nonsense, he thought, but it could not be done, for he was accustomed to sleep on his right side, and in his present condition, he could not turn himself over. However violently he forced himself towards his right side, he always rolled onto his back again.
He tried it at least a hundred times, shutting his eyes to keep from seeing his struggling legs, and only desisted when he began to feel in his side a faint dull ache he had never experienced before.
An Unsettling Awakening
Oh God, he thought, what an exhausting job I've picked on!
Traveling about day in, day out. It's much more irritating work than doing the actual business in the office, and on top of that there's the trouble of constant traveling, of worrying about train connections, the bed and irregular meals, casual acquaintances that are always new and never become intimate friends.
The devil take it all! He felt a slight itching up on his belly; slowly pushed himself on his back nearer to the top of the bed so that he could lift his head more easily; identified the itching place which was surrounded by many small white spots the nature of which he could not understand and made to touch it with a leg, but drew the leg back immediately, for the contact made a cold shiver run through him.
The Struggle to Get Out of Bed
He slid down again into his former position. This getting up early, he thought, makes one quite stupid
A man needs his sleep. Other commercial travelers live like harem women. For instance, when I come back to the hotel in the morning to write up the orders I've got, these others are only sitting down to breakfast.
Let me just try that with my chief; I'd be sacked on the spot. Anyhow, that might be quite a good thing for me, who can tell? If I didn't have to hold my hand because of my parents, I'd have given notice long ago, I'd have gone to the chief and told him exactly what I think of him. That would knock him endways from his desk! It's a queer way of doing things, too, this sitting on high at a desk and talking down to employees, especially when they have to come quite near because the chief is hard of hearing.
Well, there's still hope; once I've saved enough money to pay back my parents' debts to him—that should take another five or six years—I'll do it without fail. I'll cut myself completely loose then.
For the moment, though, I'd better get up, since my train goes at five.
The Alarm Clock's Ominous Ticking
He looked at the alarm clock ticking on the chest. Heavenly Father! he thought.
It was half-past six o'clock, and the hands were quietly moving on, it was even past the half-hour, it was getting on toward a quarter to seven. Had the alarm clock not gone off?
From the bed, one could see that it had been properly set for four o'clock; of course, it must have gone off. Yes, but was it possible to sleep quietly through that ear-splitting noise? Well, he had not slept quietly, yet apparently all the more soundly for that. But what was he to do now?
The next train went at seven o'clock; to catch that, he would need to hurry like mad, and his samples weren't even packed up, and he himself wasn't feeling particularly fresh and active. And even if he did catch the train, he wouldn't avoid a row with the chief, since the firm's porter would have been waiting for the five o'clock train and would have long since reported his failure to turn up. The porter was a creature of the chief's, spineless and stupid. Well, supposing he were to say he was sick?
But that would be most unpleasant and would look suspicious since during his five years' employment he had not been ill once. The chief himself would be sure to come with the sick insurance doctor, would reproach his parents with their son's laziness and would cut all excuses short by referring to the insurance doctor, who of course regarded all mankind as perfectly healthy malingerers.
And would he be so far wrong on this occasion? Gregor really felt quite well, apart from a drowsiness that was utterly superfluous after such a long sleep, and he was even unusually hungry.
Family's Concern and Gregor's Response
As all this was running through his mind at top speed without his being able to decide to leave his bed—the alarm clock had just struck a quarter to seven—there came a cautious tap at the door behind the head of his bed. “Gregor,” said a voice—it was his mother's—“it's a quarter to seven. Hadn't you a train to catch?” That gentle voice! Gregor had a shock as he heard his own voice answering hers, unmistakably his own voice, it was true, but with a persistent horrible twittering squeak behind it like an undertone, that left the words in their clear shape only for the first moment and then rose up reverberating around them to destroy their sense so that one could not be sure one had heard them rightly.
Gregor wanted to answer at length and explain everything, but in the circumstances, he confined himself to saying: “Yes, yes, thank you, Mother, I'm getting up now.”
The wooden door between them must have kept the change in his voice from being noticeable outside, for his mother contented herself with this statement and shuffled away. Yet this brief exchange of words had made the other members of the family aware that Gregor was still in the house, as they had not expected, and at one of the side doors, his father was already knocking, gently, yet with his fist. “Gregor, Gregor,” he called, “what's the matter with you?”
And after a little while he called again in a deeper voice: “Gregor! Gregor!” At the other side door, his sister was saying in a low, plaintive tone: “Gregor? Aren't you well? Are you needing anything?” He answered them both at once: “I'm just ready,” and did his best to make his voice sound as normal as possible by enunciating the words very clearly and leaving long pauses between them. So his father went back to his breakfast, but his sister whispered: “Gregor, open the door, do.”
However, he was not thinking of opening the door and felt thankful for the prudent habit he had acquired in traveling of locking all doors during the night, even at home.
The Unpleasant Voice Change
His immediate intention was to get up quietly without being disturbed, to put on his clothes, and above all eat his breakfast, and only then to consider what else was to be done, since in bed, he was well aware, his meditations would come to no sensible conclusion.
He remembered that often enough in bed he had felt small aches and pains, probably caused by awkward postures, which had proved purely imaginary once he got up, and he looked forward eagerly to seeing this morning's delusions gradually fall away.
That the change in his voice was nothing but the precursor of a severe chill, a standing ailment of commercial travelers, he had not the least possible doubt.
Attempts to Move and Failures
To get rid of the quilt was quite easy; he had only to inflate himself a little and it fell off by itself.
But the next move was difficult, especially because he was so uncommonly broad.
He would have needed arms and hands to hoist himself up; instead, he had only the numerous little legs which never stopped waving in all directions and which he could not control in the least.
When he tried to bend one of them, it was the first to stretch itself straight; and did he succeed at last in making it do what he wanted, all the other legs meanwhile waved the more wildly in a high degree of unpleasant agitation. “But what's the use of lying idle in bed,” said Gregor to himself.
Struggles and Desperate Attempts
He thought that he might get out of bed with the lower part of his body first, but this lower part, which he had not yet seen and of which he could form no clear conception, proved too difficult to move; it shifted so slowly; and when finally, almost wild with annoyance, he gathered his forces together and thrust out recklessly, he had miscalculated the direction and bumped heavily against the lower end of the bed, and the stinging pain he felt informed him that precisely this lower part of his body was at the moment probably the most sensitive
A Moment of Resignation and Reflection
So he tried to get the top part of himself out first and cautiously moved his head towards the edge of the bed.
That proved easy enough, and despite its breadth and mass, the bulk of his body at last slowly followed the movement of his head. Still, when he finally got his head free over the edge of the bed, he felt too scared to go on advancing, for after all, if he let himself fall in this way, it would take a miracle to keep his head from being injured.
And at all costs, he must not lose consciousness now, precisely now; he would rather stay in bed.
But when, after a repetition of the same efforts, he lay in his former position again, sighing, and watched his little legs struggling against each other more wildly than ever, if that were possible, and saw no way of bringing any order into this arbitrary confusion, he told himself again that it was impossible to stay in bed and that the most sensible course was to risk everything for the smallest hope of getting away from it.
At the same time, he did not forget to remind himself that cool reflection, the coolest possible, was much better than desperate resolves. In such moments, he focused his eyes as sharply as possible on the window, but, unfortunately, the prospect of the morning fog, which muffled even the other side of the narrow street, brought him little encouragement and comfort. “Seven o'clock already,” he said to himself when the alarm clock chimed again, “seven o'clock already and still such a thick fog.”
And for a little while, he lay quiet, breathing lightly, as if perhaps expecting such complete repose to restore all things to their real and normal condition.
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Conclusion
In conclusion, Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis offers a profound exploration of identity and alienation through the tragic figure of Gregor Samsa.
As Gregor grapples with his transformation into an insect, he becomes increasingly estranged from his family, society, and even himself. This physical metamorphosis serves as a powerful metaphor for the dehumanizing effects of modern life, where individuals are often reduced to mere functions or roles within the social machinery.
Kafka masterfully portrays the disintegration of Gregor’s identity, reflecting broader existential themes of isolation, the loss of self, and the struggle for meaning in an indifferent world.
The novella leaves readers contemplating the fragile nature of identity and the profound impact of alienation on the human condition.