The Metamorphosis

This book was not fun. I wanted it to end as soon as I started, and it made me feel like I was wasting my time. The symbolism didn't land for me. Honestly, the last time I felt this disoriented by a book was reading *Tarantula* by Bob Dylan—probably the worst book I've ever read. I know what it's *supposed* to mean. Critics read it as an allegory for alienation, capitalism grinding workers into disposable parts, family dysfunction, internalized shame. Gregor becomes a burden; his family's compassion evaporates; he dies alone. Goodreads has nearly 1.4 million ratings (3.9 stars), and literary analysis of this novella could fill a library. But knowing the interpretation doesn't make the experience better. The transformation is never explained—that's deliberate, critics say, the absurdity is the point. The family's cruelty is the critique. The lack of interiority mirrors Gregor's dehumanization. I get it. I just didn't feel it. What does interest me: Franz Kafka himself. A lawyer by day, writer by night. He asked his friend Max Brod to burn all his manuscripts after his death. Brod refused, and we got *The Trial*, *The Castle*, and this. Kafka never saw any of it published widely. Tragic and poetic. The life is more compelling than the work—at least this work. If you love this novella, I respect that. It's only 55 pages. Read it, form your own opinion. The Nabokov lectures on Kafka are supposedly excellent if you want someone to explain why it's genius. I'll take their word for it.