A cup of hot tea, my comfiest pajamas, and a quiet sense of contentment as I revisit The Metamorphosis by Kafka. I had to reread it, especially after finishing Letter to His Father not long ago I wanted to search for echoes of Kafka himself in Gregor.
Gregor was trapped: in his room, in his own mind, in a body that rendered him useless in the eyes of society. He was dismissed the moment he ceased to be functional, yet his love for his family remained intact. In both works, I saw a haunting parallel Kafka describes his father following him around the room to strike him, and then there’s Gregor, scuttling under the furniture as his father chases him in much the same way.
When was Gregor ever truly free? As a worker, exploited by his family? Or as an insect, tormented by them?
Gregor hid, repulsing his family, and it reminded me so much of depression, how we deal with those suffering from it, seeing only the stinking, decaying body and forgetting about all the love still buried underneath as time passes. Society doesn’t allow people to break for long. Eventually, those around you stop believing in your healing, and worse, you start believing them. When Gregor’s sister gave up on him, he seemed to accept his fate. When his mother insisted on keeping the furniture in his room, it was as if she was clinging to the old parts of him, just as he was.
And oh, how I despised the sister, even more than the father. At least the father was honest in his cruelty, but she cared for Gregor not out of love, but out of a need to feel better about herself. That became clear when she resented their mother for helping. And in the end, she flourished only after Gregor’s death, stepping into a future that seemed brighter precisely because he was gone. She wished for her brother’s death, and when it came, she blossomed.
Next book I’m reading is definitely about unicorns farting rainbows, I’m done with these depressive classics. (LIIIIIES I love them)
by purplegaman