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![The Metamorphosis by [Franz Kafka, EbookEden.com]](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/51ys8l-+XAL._SX260_.jpg)
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The Metamorphosis Kindle Edition
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This edition contains an extensive overview of both the author and the novel.
- LanguageEnglish
- Publication dateApril 11, 2009
- File size149 KB
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Editorial Reviews
From Publishers Weekly
Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
From the Inside Flap
Acclaimed graphic artist Peter Kuper presents a kinetic illustrated adaptation of Franz Kafkas The Metamorphosis. Kupers electric drawingswhere American cartooning meets German expressionismbring Kafkas prose to vivid life, reviving the original storys humor and poignancy in a way that will surprise and delight readers of Kafka and graphic novels alike. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
From the Publisher
From the Back Cover
In addition to the title selection, considered by many critics Kafka's most perfect work, this collection includes "The Judgment," "In the Penal Colony," "A Country Doctor," and "A Report to an Academy." Stanley Appelbaum has provided excellent new English translation of the stories and a brief Note placing them within Kafka's oeuvre. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous vermin. He was lying on his back as hard as armor plate, and when he lifted his head a little, he saw his vaulted brown belly, sectioned by arch-shaped ribs, to whose dome the cover, about to slide off completely, could barely cling. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, were waving helplessly before his eyes.
"What's happened to me?" he thought. It was no dream. His room, a regular human room, only a little on the small side, lay quiet between the four familiar walls. Over the table, on which an unpacked line of fabric samples was all spread out--Samsa was a traveling salesman--hung the picture which he had recently cut out of a glossy magazine and lodged in a pretty gilt frame. It showed a lady done up in a fur hat and a fur boa, sitting upright and raising up against the viewer a heavy fur muff in which her whole forearm had disappeared.
Gregor's eyes then turned to the window, and the overcast weather--he could hear raindrops hitting against the metal window ledge--completely depressed him. "How about going back to sleep for a few minutes and forgetting all this nonsense," he thought, but that was completely impracticable, since he was used to sleeping on his right side and in his present state could not get into that position. No matter how hard he threw himself onto his right side, he always rocked onto his back again. He must have tried it a hundred times, closing his eyes so as not to have to see his squirming legs, and stopped only when he began to feel a slight, dull pain in his side, which he had never felt before.
"Oh God," he thought, "what a grueling job I've picked! Day in, day out--on the road. The upset of doing business is much worse than the actual business in the home office, and, besides, I've got the torture of traveling, worrying about changing trains, eating miserable food at all hours, constantly seeing new faces, no relationships that last or get more intimate. To the devil with it all!" He felt a slight itching up on top of his belly; shoved himself slowly on his back closer to the bedpost, so as to be able to lift his head better; found the itchy spot, studded with small white dots which he had no idea what to make of; and wanted to touch the spot with one of his legs but immediately pulled it back, for the contact sent a cold shiver through him.
He slid back again into his original position. "This getting up so early," he thought, "makes anyone a complete idiot. Human beings have to have their sleep. Other traveling salesmen live like harem women. For instance, when I go back to the hotel before lunch to write up the business I've done, these gentlemen are just having breakfast. That's all I'd have to try with my boss; I'd be fired on the spot. Anyway, who knows if that wouldn't be a very good thing for me. If I didn't hold back for my parents' sake, I would have quit long ago, I would have marched up to the boss and spoken my piece from the bottom of my heart. He would have fallen off the desk! It is funny, too, the way he sits on the desk and talks down from the heights to the employees, especially when they have to come right up close on account of the boss's being hard of hearing. Well, I haven't given up hope completely; once I've gotten the money together to pay off my parents' debt to him--that will probably take another five or six years--I'm going to do it without fail. Then I'm going to make the big break. But for the time being I'd better get up, since my train leaves at five."
And he looked over at the alarm clock, which was ticking on the chest of drawers. "God Almighty!" he thought. It was six-thirty, the hands were quietly moving forward, it was actually past the half-hour, it was already nearly a quarter to. Could it be that the alarm hadn't gone off? You could see from the bed that it was set correctly for four o'clock; it certainly had gone off, too. Yes, but was it possible to sleep quietly through a ringing that made the furniture shake? Well, he certainly hadn't slept quietly, but probably all the more soundly for that. But what should he do now? The next train left at seven o'clock; to make it, he would have to hurry like a madman, and the line of samples wasn't packed yet, and he himself didn't feel especially fresh and ready to march around. And even if he did make the train, he could not avoid getting it from the boss, because the messenger boy had been waiting at the five-o'clock train and would have long ago reported his not showing up. He was a tool of the boss, without brains or backbone. What if he were to say he was sick? But that would be extremely embarrassing and suspicious because during his five years with the firm Gregor had not been sick even once. The boss would be sure to come with the health-insurance doctor, blame his parents for their lazy son, and cut off all excuses by quoting the health-insurance doctor, for whom the world consisted of people who were completely healthy but afraid to work. And, besides, in this case would he be so very wrong? In fact, Gregor felt fine, with the exception of his drowsiness, which was really unnecessary after sleeping so late, and he even had a ravenous appetite.
Just as he was thinking all this over at top speed, without being able to decide to get out of bed--the alarm clock had just struck a quarter to seven--he heard a cautious knocking at the door next to the head of his bed. "Gregor," someone called--it was his mother--"it's a quarter to seven. Didn't you want to catch the train?" What a soft voice! Gregor was shocked to hear his own voice answering, unmistakably his own voice, true, but in which, as if from below, an insistent distressed chirping intruded, which left the clarity of his words intact only for a moment really, before so badly garbling them as they carried that no one could be sure if he had heard right. Gregor had wanted to answer in detail and to explain everything, but, given the circumstances, confined himself to saying, "Yes, yes, thanks, Mother, I'm just getting up." The wooden door must have prevented the change in Gregor's voice from being noticed outside, because his mother was satisfied with this explanation and shuffled off. But their little exchange had made the rest of the family aware that, contrary to expectations, Gregor was still in the house, and already his father was knocking on one of the side doors, feebly but with his fist. "Gregor, Gregor," he called, "what's going on?" And after a little while he called again in a deeper, warning voice, "Gregor! Gregor!" At the other side door, however, his sister moaned gently, "Gregor? Is something the matter with you? Do you want anything?" Toward both sides Gregor answered: "I'm all ready," and made an effort, by meticulous pronunciation and by inserting long pauses between individual words, to eliminate everything from his voice that might betray him. His father went back to his breakfast, but his sister whispered, "Gregor, open up, I'm pleading with you." But Gregor had absolutely no intention of opening the door and complimented himself instead on the precaution he had adopted from his business trips, of locking all the doors during the night even at home.
First of all he wanted to get up quietly, without any excitement; get dressed; and, the main thing, have breakfast, and only then think about what to do next, for he saw clearly that in bed he would never think things through to a rational conclusion. He remembered how even in the past he had often felt some kind of slight pain, possibly caused by lying in an uncomfortable position, which, when he got up, turned out to be purely imaginary, and he was eager to see how today's fantasy would gradually fade away. That the change in his voice was nothing more than the first sign of a bad cold, an occupational ailment of the traveling salesman, he had no doubt in the least.
It was very easy to throw off the cover; all he had to do was puff himself up a little, and it fell off by itself. But after this, things got difficult, especially since he was so unusually broad. He would have needed hands and arms to lift himself up, but instead of that he had only his numerous little legs, which were in every different kind of perpetual motion and which, besides, he could not control. If he wanted to bend one, the first thing that happened was that it stretched itself out;* and if he finally succeeded in getting this leg to do what he wanted, all the others in the meantime, as if set free, began to work in the most intensely painful agitation. "Just don't stay in bed being useless," Gregor said to himself.
First he tried to get out of bed with the lower part of his body, but this lower part--which by the way he had not seen yet and which he could not form a clear picture of--proved too difficult to budge; it was taking so long; and when finally, almost out of his mind, he lunged forward with all his force, without caring, he had picked the wrong direction and slammed himself violently against the lower bedpost, and the searing pain he felt taught him that exactly the lower part of his body was, for the moment anyway, the most sensitive.
He therefore tried to get the upper part of his body out of bed first and warily turned his head toward the edge of the bed. This worked easily, and in spite of its width and weight, the mass of his body finally followed, slowly, the movement of his head. But when at last he stuck his head over the edge of the bed into the air, he got too scared to continue any further, since if he finally let himself fall in this position, it would be a miracle if he didn't injure his head. And just now he had better not for the life of him lose consciousness; he would rather stay in bed.
But when, once again, after the same exertion, he lay in his original position, sighing, and again watched his little legs struggling, if possible more fiercely, with each other and saw no way of bringing peace and order into this mindless motion, he again told himself that it was impossible for him to stay in bed and that the most rational thing was to make any sacrifice for even the smallest hope of freeing himself from the bed. But at the same time he did not forget to remind himself occasionally that thinking things over calmly--indeed, as calmly as possible--was much better than jumping to desperate decisions. At such moments he fixed his eyes as sharply as possible on the window, but unfortunately there was little confidence and cheer to be gotten from the view of the morning fog, which shrouded even the other side of the narrow street. "Seven o'clock already," he said to himself as the alarm clock struck again, "seven o'clock already and still such a fog." And for a little while he lay quietly, breathing shallowly, as if expecting, perhaps, from the complete silence the return of things to the way they really and naturally were.
But then he said to himself, "Before it strikes a quarter past seven, I must be completely out of bed without fail. Anyway, by that time someone from the firm will be here to find out where I am, since the office opens before seven." And now he started rocking the complete length of his body out of the bed with a smooth rhythm. If he let himself topple out of bed in this way, his head, which on falling he planned to lift up sharply, would presumably remain unharmed. His back seemed to be hard; nothing was likely to happen to it when it fell onto the carpet. His biggest misgiving came from his concern about the loud crash that was bound to occur and would probably create, if not terror, at least anxiety behind all the doors. But that would have to be risked.
When Gregor's body already projected halfway out of bed--the new method was more of a game than a struggle, he only had to keep on rocking and jerking himself along--he thought how simple everything would be if he could get some help. Two strong persons--he thought of his father and the maid--would have been completely sufficient; they would only have had to shove their arms under his arched back, in this way scoop him off the bed, bend down with their burden, and then just be careful and patient while he managed to swing himself down onto the floor, where his little legs would hopefully acquire some purpose. Well, leaving out the fact that the doors were locked, should he really call for help? In spite of all his miseries, he could not repress a smile at this thought.
He was already so far along that when he rocked more strongly he could hardly keep his balance, and very soon he would have to commit himself, because in five minutes it would be a quarter past seven--when the doorbell rang. "It's someone from the firm," he said to himself and almost froze, while his little legs only danced more quickly. For a moment everything remained quiet. "They're not going to answer," Gregor said to himself, captivated by some senseless hope. But then, of course, the maid went to the door as usual with her firm stride and opened up. Gregor only had to hear the visitor's first word of greeting to know who it was--the office manager himself. Why was only Gregor condemned to work for a firm where at the slightest omission they immediately suspected the worst? Were all employees louts without exception, wasn't there a single loyal, dedicated worker among them who, when he had not fully utilized a few hours of the morning for the firm, was driven half-mad by pangs of conscience and was actually unable to get out of bed? Really, wouldn't it have been enough to send one of the apprentices to find out--if this prying were absolutely necessary--did the manager himself have to come, and did the whole innocent family have to be shown in this way that the investigation of this suspicious affair could be entrusted only to the intellect of the manager? And more as a result of the excitement produced in Gregor by these thoughts than as a result of any real decision, he swung himself out of bed with all his might. There was a loud thump, but it was not a real crash. The fall was broken a little by the carpet, and Gregor's back was more elastic than he had thought, which explained the not very noticeable muffled sound. Only he had not held his head carefully enough and hit it; he turned it and rubbed it on the carpet in anger and pain. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
From AudioFile
From Booklist
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
Review
''One of the seminal writers of the twentieth century. Each work is unique and spellbinding. You don't know what's going to happen and you can't put it down.'' --Jewish Book World
''One of the seminal writers of the twentieth century. Each work is unique and spellbinding. You don't know what's going to happen and you can't put it down.'' --Jewish Book World --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
Review
“The ride from book to comic can be bumpy. Mr. Kuper navigates the transition with precision.”—New York Times
“Kafka’s anguished archetypal characters are easily rendered into visual equivalents and given new life in Kuper’s raw, expressionistic graphic style.”—Publishers Weekly
“Darkly appropriate . . . Kuper’s work rivals that of Art Spiegelman.”—Chicago Sun-Times
“Bubbling beneath the surface is a caustic batch of black humor that is as much unsettling as it is absurd. This is the magic of Kafka. And Kuper gives it a postmodern edge here, with an intriguing dance of picture and text.”—Gannett News Service
“Kuper’s scratchboard style . . . is reminiscent of the German expressionist artists . . . and his cartoony approach accentuates Kafka’s dark humor.”—Booklist --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
From School Library Journal
Jamie Watson, Enoch Pratt Free Library, Baltimore
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
Product details
- ASIN : B00267SYHG
- Publication date : April 11, 2009
- Language : English
- File size : 149 KB
- Simultaneous device usage : Unlimited
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 54 pages
- Best Sellers Rank: #916,064 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #776 in Horror Fiction Classics
- #1,035 in Contemporary Fantasy Fiction
- #1,141 in 90-Minute Science Fiction & Fantasy Short Reads
- Customer Reviews:
About the authors
Franz Kafka was born in 1883 in Prague, where he lived most of his life. During his lifetime, he published only a few short stories, including “The Metamorphosis,” “The Judgment,” and “The Stoker.” He died in 1924, before completing any of his full-length novels. At the end of his life, Kafka asked his lifelong friend and literary executor Max Brod to burn all his unpublished work. Brod overrode those wishes.
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Franz Kafka (Praga, Imperio austrohúngaro, 3 de julio de 1883 - Kierling, Austria, 3 de junio de 1924) fue un escritor de origen judío nacido en Bohemia que escribió en alemán. Su obra está considerada una de las más influyentes de la literatura universal y está llena de temas y arquetipos sobre la alienación, la brutalidad física y psicológica, los conflictos entre padres e hijos, personajes en aventuras terroríficas, laberintos de burocracia, y transformaciones místicas.
Fue autor de tres novelas, El proceso (Der Prozeß), El castillo (Das Schloß) y El desaparecido (Amerika o Der Verschollene), la novela corta La metamorfosis (Die Verwandlung) y un gran número de relatos cortos. Además, dejó una abundante correspondencia y escritos autobiográficos. Su peculiar estilo literario ha sido comúnmente asociado con la filosofía artística del existencialismo --al que influenció-- y el expresionismo. Estudiosos de Kafka discuten sobre cómo interpretar al autor, algunos hablan de la posible influencia de alguna ideología política antiburocrática, de una religiosidad mística o de una reivindicación de su minoría etnocultural, mientras otros se fijan en el contenido psicológico de sus obras. Sus relaciones personales también tuvieron gran impacto en su escritura, particularmente su padre (Carta al padre), su prometida Felice Bauer (Cartas a Felice) y su hermana (Cartas a Ottla).
El término kafkiano se usa en el idioma español para describir situaciones surrealistas como las que se encuentran en sus libros y tiene sus equivalentes en otros idiomas. Solo unas pocas de sus obras fueron publicadas durante su vida. La mayor parte, incluyendo trabajos incompletos, fueron publicados por su amigo Max Brod, quien ignoró los deseos del autor de que los manuscritos fueran destruidos.
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Two matters--at least--exceeded my willing suspension of disbelief: the metamorphosis itself was unexplained, as was the family's recognition of the beetle as indeed their family member. Why did he change? Why did the family not conclude that the protagonist was a giant insect that had eaten its family member?
The book is short and contains some details about everyday life (the strength of historical fiction by the way), but other writers cover that ground as well or better. The story is simple, as is its narration, and it is hard to see its merit from a modern perspective. Perhaps the relation of interior thought in a novel was innovative at that time. Or perhaps this particular translation stripped down eloquent German into simple English. As a novel, I think this work can best be appreciated from a historical perspective. Otherwise, it can be appreciated for philosophical and psychological observations.
Why read it? It is often mentioned in critical writing, and doesn't take long to read.
This book contains no explanation of how or why the metamorphosis occurs, but it seems clear that the transition is not the fault of Gregor Samsa. At the start of the story, the reader wonders if this is a story advocating tolerance and understanding of those who are different or handicapped. But, quite the contrary, the plot develops that the Samsa family is cursed in its efforts to accommodate an important member of the family who is suffering. And when these feeble efforts are no longer required, the family is rewarded even though it seems that more compassion could have and should have been shown.
So the bottom line is that the theme of this story is one to which we can all relate. We all encounter adversity that we cannot understand and we all receive less sympathy than we think we should receive. Herr Kafka does not offer a solution, only a vivid and depressing description of the situation.
Top reviews from other countries

The title is quite attractive especially for a person like me who loves biology.
This book holds a story of Gregor Samsa, a travelling salesman, who wakes up one day to discover that he has metamorphosed into a bug or you can say a horrible vermin. And with this change starts the real struggle of Samsa trying hard to reconcile his humanity with his transformation.
And talking about people around him for whom he was once a perfect hard working man was now a trouble and a horrible thing to deal with, with loads of emotions like (grief, hatred, resignation, endurance, and then explicit detestation)
It’s more like a person who has been affected by a disease like AIDS and people stay away from him because they fear that what if they get the virus transferred into their system.
The writer has penned down something which is very real and tragic at the same time. As if he wanted us to understand that, Suddenly something happens in our lives and everything is changed and what is left behind is hope for better things ahead even if its impossible.
The book is all about how can a change affect you, how will people treat you after that change and what it feels like being a weak one, how it feels being isolated by the ones who adore you once, how difficult is to exist when you are no more a human, how cruel can people be when you are suddenly of no use, how people forget everything you did to them just when you collapse.
You should definitely read this book for a change. Kafka has done a really good work here. If you read about Kafka, you will come to know that his books throw light on his life.
I am impressed, I am going to grab The Trial now, another masterpiece by him.


Reviewed in India 🇮🇳 on August 3, 2018
The title is quite attractive especially for a person like me who loves biology.
This book holds a story of Gregor Samsa, a travelling salesman, who wakes up one day to discover that he has metamorphosed into a bug or you can say a horrible vermin. And with this change starts the real struggle of Samsa trying hard to reconcile his humanity with his transformation.
And talking about people around him for whom he was once a perfect hard working man was now a trouble and a horrible thing to deal with, with loads of emotions like (grief, hatred, resignation, endurance, and then explicit detestation)
It’s more like a person who has been affected by a disease like AIDS and people stay away from him because they fear that what if they get the virus transferred into their system.
The writer has penned down something which is very real and tragic at the same time. As if he wanted us to understand that, Suddenly something happens in our lives and everything is changed and what is left behind is hope for better things ahead even if its impossible.
The book is all about how can a change affect you, how will people treat you after that change and what it feels like being a weak one, how it feels being isolated by the ones who adore you once, how difficult is to exist when you are no more a human, how cruel can people be when you are suddenly of no use, how people forget everything you did to them just when you collapse.
You should definitely read this book for a change. Kafka has done a really good work here. If you read about Kafka, you will come to know that his books throw light on his life.
I am impressed, I am going to grab The Trial now, another masterpiece by him.


Verdict:
1. Cheap just rs 69 , I guess that it’s worth spending.
2. Great quality pages
3. Easy to read. you may get lost sometimes though.
If you are an avid reader, Franz Kafka’s books are a must read. ( go for "The trial"


Reviewed in India 🇮🇳 on January 7, 2019
Verdict:
1. Cheap just rs 69 , I guess that it’s worth spending.
2. Great quality pages
3. Easy to read. you may get lost sometimes though.
If you are an avid reader, Franz Kafka’s books are a must read. ( go for "The trial"





To what extent is it a virtue? Perhaps to the point where resentment creeps in, as it does when Gregor is counting the years he must work to pay off his father's debt after which he can leave his work for something he wants to do.
Is it a virtue when one becomes an 'enabler'? When Gregor can no longer support his family each one finds profitable work, which they could have done far sooner had Gregor discerned the time to withdraw his support. In this instance his self sacrifice became not only futile but damaging, both to himself and his family.
Is self sacrifice valued by the recipient? Perhaps, if the recipient is not made dependent; but dependence breeds resentment when the sense of entitlement is thwarted; this is demonstrated by Gregor's family's attitude when he is no longer of use to them.
Is self sacrifice reciprocated by the beneficiaries? When Gregor needs support it is not forthcoming. He becomes an embarrassment, something to be shut away, shunned and eventually discarded completely.
Galatians Chapter 6 seems to nicely suggest the need for balance: Verse 2: 'Go on carrying the burdens of one another'. Verse 5: 'For each one will carry his own load'.
