Tuesday, August 31, 2021

The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka (1915)

 Some of the reviews of this edition call it "fiendishly funny" and as having "sheer mischief" in its makeup, which I find frankly puzzling. Though it has an occasional moment where one might be able to 'interpret in' a fairly vague attempt at humorous lightness, it most definitely doesn't feel majority-comedic. My overwhelming emotional response is pity. And aesthetically it feels dark and expressionist. I really don't think this is a black comedy, but it's my first Kafka, and maybe I need to learn more. The storyline is well-known, but it is interesting to note that it most definitely wasn't a cockroach that Gregor became, rather something like a louse, because he had a squishy back in which could be embedded the apple his father throws. Kafka's original language is apparently general enough simply to indicate 'vermin'. I like his attitude to detail: a particular point that serves the plot will be drawn out with an emotional specificity relating to something tangential, thereby enriching the picture. Often these embellishments go toward the further elucidation of character, so we get a subtler portrait of where someone is at, their pride or timidity or social anxieties. I haven't read around this at all, wanting the work to speak for itself, so there may be answers out there to a major question I have: how far is this allegorical? Is Kafka dramatizing a feeling of dehumanization he felt at some point of his life? Or a period of incapacitating illness? Or some sort of social pariah-hood? It's also interesting how matter of fact he is in his ending. Gregor's parents and sister experience a great relief and buzzing high when he finally dies, and seem to be selfishly concentrated on future happiness, all thought of his plight left behind happily. Is this an indictment? Or a recording of melancholic truthfulness about the pleasure that comes from lifting the weight of familial burdens? With its minority-playfulness, crabbed and fierce darkness and grey, limpid sadness, anyway, this is a splendid thing.

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