in the first sentence that he has undergone this change, rather than watching it happen chapter by chapter. This is destructive by nature, in that we are forced to assume that something else must be behind his metamorphosis -- even if there is an obnoxious feeling that Kafka is simply toying with us. By making Gregor what we automatically assume is inferior, we conclude that there is nothing but death for him and his family, for one who simply wakes up in such a state probably wasn't much good to begin with... couldn't he have just died in the night? Instead, we watch him struggle for communication with which he is familiar with, be kicked along not as the family pillar as he once was, but a sour bit of paint on the wall, nothing more than a burden upon his co-occupants. Who exactly is benefitting, and how? We are presented with questions, but we must ask them before we know how we want to ask them. And, accordingly, there are no answers. Kafka's brilliance, and his pointedness, both at work.
Monday, January 18, 2010
On The Metamorphosis...
The Metamorphosis, written in pre-WWI Germany (or Czech Republic, depending on source), by Franz Kafka has been interpreted in so many different ways that it becomes impossible to conclude anything about the story or the motifs within the story almost at all. Some would argue that it is representative of a childhood illness or fear of paternal figures that Kafka wrote into many of his various shorts. Others see him criticizing the very pretentiousness of his characters, and by extension the portrayal of "the artist" found in other works (i.e. James Joyce). What I see is an easy way to identify with my Big Question: Kafka has written The Metamorphosis under pretenses of declining foundation and crumbling structure. This makes perfect sense, as we have a story where a man, Gregor, wakes up to find himself an insect. The term "metamorphosis" is indicative of progression, whereas transforming from a complex life form such as a human being into something less distinctly complex into a bug (for this reason, Kafka never describes Gregor's appearance), is more backwards than forwards. Ironic as it is on the surface, this major plot element is only central to the story by default -- we are told in the first sentence that he has undergone this change, rather than watching it happen chapter by chapter. This is destructive by nature, in that we are forced to assume that something else must be behind his metamorphosis -- even if there is an obnoxious feeling that Kafka is simply toying with us. By making Gregor what we automatically assume is inferior, we conclude that there is nothing but death for him and his family, for one who simply wakes up in such a state probably wasn't much good to begin with... couldn't he have just died in the night? Instead, we watch him struggle for communication with which he is familiar with, be kicked along not as the family pillar as he once was, but a sour bit of paint on the wall, nothing more than a burden upon his co-occupants. Who exactly is benefitting, and how? We are presented with questions, but we must ask them before we know how we want to ask them. And, accordingly, there are no answers. Kafka's brilliance, and his pointedness, both at work.
in the first sentence that he has undergone this change, rather than watching it happen chapter by chapter. This is destructive by nature, in that we are forced to assume that something else must be behind his metamorphosis -- even if there is an obnoxious feeling that Kafka is simply toying with us. By making Gregor what we automatically assume is inferior, we conclude that there is nothing but death for him and his family, for one who simply wakes up in such a state probably wasn't much good to begin with... couldn't he have just died in the night? Instead, we watch him struggle for communication with which he is familiar with, be kicked along not as the family pillar as he once was, but a sour bit of paint on the wall, nothing more than a burden upon his co-occupants. Who exactly is benefitting, and how? We are presented with questions, but we must ask them before we know how we want to ask them. And, accordingly, there are no answers. Kafka's brilliance, and his pointedness, both at work.
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