Book Review: The Metamorphosis

Imagine this: You wake up one day, and instead of rolling out of bed, rubbing your eyes, and checking your phone for notifications that don’t matter, you realize something is wrong. Very wrong. You’re no longer human. You’re a giant insect—a grotesque, twitching, exoskeleton-clad abomination. Your family—the people who are supposed to love you—react not with horror for what’s happened to you but horror at what you’ve become. You’re not Gregor Samsa, beloved son and hardworking provider. You’re Gregor Samsa, repulsive, useless, good-for-nothing pest. And that, my friends, is the gut punch of existential dread Franz Kafka serves us in The Metamorphosis. 

How I Found Kafka: A Lesson in Strangeness

I owe my introduction to Kafka to an English professor at Santa Barbara City College—the kind of place where students talk about ‘finding themselves’ while living off overpriced avocado toast. He suggested I read  The Metamorphosis, adding that Kafka and I had something in common. Naturally, I asked, “What, are you calling me a cucaracha?” He laughed and said no (thank God) but explained that Kafka, like me, wrote in a language that wasn’t his first. It was a strange compliment at the time, which my highly sensitive younger self took as an insult, but then I found out my English professor enjoyed what I wrote.

When I cracked open The Metamorphosis, I had no idea what I was getting into. Here was this slim little book, a mere 70 pages, that somehow managed to encapsulate the crushing weight of modern existence, the absurdity of human relationships, and the terrifying realization that, at the end of the day, you are only as valuable as what you can provide. And when you can no longer provide? Well, you might as well be a giant cockroach rotting away in the corner.

Kafka’s Inspiration: Out of a Nightmare, Into Reality

Kafka didn’t pull this story out of thin air. He lived it. A man drowning in self-doubt, suffocated by an overbearing father and shackled to a tedious office job that drained him of any sense of purpose. In 1912, while working as a clerk at an insurance company (which, in my professional opinion as an insurance agent, might be its own kind of horror story), he wrote The Metamorphosis in a fever dream of creativity and existential despair. He was haunted by the fear of being inadequate and the crushing expectations of family and society.

And here’s where Kafka’s genius punches you in the face: he takes that all-too-relatable feeling of being used, discarded, and dehumanized, and he literalizes it. He strips Gregor of everything—his job, his family’s love, his dignity—and forces us to ask: If we are only defined by our usefulness, what are we when we’re no longer useful?

The Horror of Being Used Up

Let’s be real—the scariest part of The Metamorphosis isn’t Gregor turning into an insect. It’s his family’s reaction. At first, they’re shocked. Then, they’re inconvenienced. Then, they’re outright disgusted. He’s no longer the golden boy, the hard worker, the financial pillar of the household. He’s… a thing. And when a thing is no longer useful, it’s trash.

But I don’t think Kafka wants us to feel bad for Gregor—he wants us to see ourselves in him. Because how many of us work ourselves to the bone, sacrifice our passions, grind through life in service of others, only to realize that once we stop producing, we’re disposable? Gregor is a nightmare version of the modern worker: drained, dehumanized, and ultimately discarded.

Dark Comedy in a Bug’s Life

And yet, somehow, it’s funny. In the darkest, most uncomfortable way. Gregor’s pitiful attempts to crawl around, his family’s awkward mix of horror and reluctant duty, the absurdity of a giant insect just existing in an ordinary household—it’s tragicomic gold. Kafka knew that life wasn’t just suffering; it was suffering with a laugh track. The Metamorphosis is like one long, miserable sitcom episode where the protagonist slowly loses everything while the audience chuckles uncomfortably in the background.

This is where Kafka nails the absurdist horror of existence. Life is meaningless. Society is cruel. And yet, we laugh. Because what else can we do?

Kafka’s Genius: Taking the Human Condition and Turning It Into a Bug

At its core, The Metamorphosis is about the realization that, without status, without function, without usefulness, we are nothing. It’s a horror story wrapped in a bizarre premise and sprinkled with dark humor. And Kafka doesn’t give us a resolution. He doesn’t give us hope. He just leaves us with the unsettling question: When everything you’ve worked for is gone, who are you?

And let’s be clear—Kafka doesn’t give a damn about making you feel good. He doesn’t coddle you with messages of resilience or redemption. There’s no uplifting speech about how Gregor finds inner peace as a bug and transcends his suffering. No. Gregor is neglected, abandoned, and left to die. And that, Kafka seems to say, is what happens when we allow ourselves to be consumed by a world that only values what we produce.

Kafka, the Mirror You Don’t Want to Look Into

If you’re looking for a feel-good, self-help-style book, read Brené Brown and let her tell you that vulnerability is the key to happiness (while conveniently ignoring how vulnerability often gets you exploited). The Metamorphosis is not here to make you feel warm and fuzzy. It’s here to slap you in the face with the cold, hard reality that society doesn’t care about you beyond what you can offer.

So why read it? Because Kafka holds up a mirror and dares you to look. Because it forces you to ask yourself what you’re sacrificing just to survive. Because it reminds you that, no matter how much you give, one day, you too might find yourself discarded, left to rot while the world moves on. The Metamorphosis is absurd. It’s horrifying. It’s deeply, uncomfortably funny. And it’s one of the most brutally honest books you will ever read. So if you’re up for an existential crisis with a side of dark comedy, crack open Kafka’s masterpiece. Just don’t expect to see the world the same way, anymore.