July 2025 read-along pick: The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

Because nothing makes me think more than a strange story

We are a full week into the month of July and I’ve only just now decided I’m finally going to read my first Kafka.

(I sent out a desperate, scattered plea for help via Notes in deciding what to read and write about this month, and the results were evenly split between The Iliad and The Metamorphosis; I purposefully chose the shorter work and the leaning tower of modern books I am genuinely interested in reading this month thanks me.)

There is a copy of The Castle by Franz Kafka sitting near my desk that I’ve been eyeing, which I picked up at a used book sale a few years ago for next to nothing—but after minimal research I concluded that’s probably not the best place to start.

Franz Kafka was Jewish, Austrian, and Czech, writing in the Modernist literary movement. The Metamorphosis, published in 1915, is his most famous work. It primarily explores themes of alienation and the struggle to connect with others—using a truly bizarre premise to do so. The first sentence of this timeless novella grips the reader:

“One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin.”

I already have so many questions.

And the last truly strange novel I read was Susanna Clarke’s Piranesi and I am still thinking about all the things she was trying to say and I just know I’m in for something great with this one.

In my brief research I also stumbled upon a telling quote that was crafted in response to Kafka’s works, which, coincidentally, resonated with my recent readings of the Transcendentalists and all they had to say about self-reliance. (More on my Concord adventures soon!) In the foreword to The Metamorphosis, In the Penal Colony, and Other Stories: The Great Short Works of Franz Kafka, Annie Rice wrote the following words about Kafka in 1995:

“Kafka became a model for me, a continuing inspiration. Not only did he exhibit an irrepressible originality—who else would think of things like this!—he seemed to say that only in one’s most personal language can the crucial tales of a writer be told. Don’t bend; don’t water it down; don’t try to make it logical; don’t edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly. Only if you do that can you hope to make the reader feel a particle of what you, the writer, have known and feel compelled to share.”

(The bolded words are often mistakenly attributed to Kafka himself.)

It’s the struggle to make others understand amidst an unsettling transformation that interests me in The Metamorphosis—because how frustrating is it to do just that when we’re experiencing any sort of unexpected transformation? Something we didn’t necessarily ask for or initiate, but can’t ignore no matter how hard we might wish we could?

I might not be transforming into a “horrible vermin” anytime soon, but I can’t help but wonder what sort of wisdom this strange work can offer readers in the midst of any sort of transformation.

Join me?