Franz Kafka - The Metamorphosis: A New Translation by Susan Bernofsky

This fine version, with David Cronenbergs inspired introduction and the new translators beguiling afterword, is, I suspect, the most disturbing though the most comforting of all so far; others will follow, but dont hesitate: this is the transforming text for you.

Richard Howard

A classic, magisterial work of fiction has been dusted off and wondrously restored to its freshness and originality by one of our best contemporary translators. Susan Bernofsky is alive to the humor, irony, and sheer mischief behind Kafkas prose. David Cronenbergs shrewd, sympathetic introduction adds just the right grace note.

Phillip Lopate

Susan Bernofsky brilliantly infuses her splendid and (deceptively) comfortable prose with the dark ambience of the old world, giving rise to the grim and unabashed hilarity that is Metamorphosis. Bernofskys translation of Kafkas morbid comedy is fiendishly funny, fresh and necessary.

Binnie Kirshenbaum, author of Hester Among the Ruins

An ideally uneasy triumph of a translation.

Rivka Galchen

I

W HEN GREGOR SAMSA WOKE ONE MORNING from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed right there in his bed into some sort of monstrous insect. He was lying on his backwhich was hard, like a carapaceand when he raised his head a little he saw his curved brown belly segmented by rigid arches atop which the blanket, already slipping, was just barely managing to cling. His many legs, pitifully thin compared to the rest of him, waved helplessly before his eyes.

What in the world has happened to me? he thought. It was no dream. His room, a proper human room, if admittedly rather too small, lay peacefully between the four familiar walls. Above the table, where an unpacked collection of cloth samples was arranged (Samsa was a traveling salesman), hung the picture he had recently clipped from a glossy magazine and placed in an attractive gilt frame. This picture showed a lady in a fur hat and fur boa who sat erect, holding out to the viewer a heavy fur muff in which her entire forearm had vanished.

Gregors gaze then shifted to the window, where the bleak weatherraindrops could be heard striking the metal sillmade him feel quite melancholy. What if I just go back to sleep for a little while and forget all this foolishness, he thought, but this proved utterly impossible, for it was his habit to sleep on his right side, and in his present state he was unable to assume this position. No matter how forcefully he thrust himself onto his side, he kept rolling back. Perhaps a hundred times he attempted it, closing his eyes so as not to have to see those struggling legs, and relented only when he began to feel a faint dull ache in his side, unlike anything hed ever felt before.

Good Lord, he thought, what an exhausting profession Ive chosen. Day in and day out on the road. Work like this is far more unsettling than business conducted at home, and then I have the agony of traveling itself to contend with: worrying about train connections, the irregular, unpalatable meals, and human intercourse that is constantly changing, never developing the least constancy or warmth. Devil take it all! He felt a faint itch high up on his belly; still on his back, he laboriously edged himself over to the bedpost so he could raise his head more easily; identified the site of the itch: a cluster of tiny white dots he was unable to judge; and wanted to probe the spot with a leg, but drew it back again at once, for the touch sent cold shivers rippling through him.

He slid back into his earlier position. All this early rising, he thought, its enough to make one soft in the head. Human beings need their sleep. Other traveling salesmen live like harem girls. When I go back to the boardinghouse, for example, to copy out the mornings commissions: why, these gentlemen may still be sitting at breakfast. Id like to see my bosss face if I tried that some time; hed can me on the spot. Although who knows, maybe that would be the best thing for me. If I didnt have to hold back for my parents sake, Id have given notice long agoId have marched right up to him and given him a piece of my mind. Hed have fallen right off his desk! And what an odd custom that is: perching high up atop ones elevated desk and from this considerable height addressing ones employee down below, especially as the latter is obliged to stand quite close because his boss is hard of hearing. Well, all hope is not yet lost; as soon as Ive saved up enough money to pay back what my parents owe himanother five or six years ought to be enoughIll most definitely do just that. This will be the great parting of ways. For the time being, though, Ive got to get up, my train leaves at five.

And he glanced over at the alarm clock ticking away atop the wardrobe. Heavenly Father! he thought. It was half past six, and the clocks hands kept shifting calmly forward, in fact the half-hour had already passed, it was getting on toward six forty-five. Could the alarm have failed to ring? Even from the bed one could see it was properly set for four oclock; it must have rung. Yes, but was it possible to sleep tranquilly through this furniture-shaking racket? Well, his sleep hadnt been exactly tranquil, but no doubt thats why it had been so sound. But what should he do now? The next train was at seven oclock; to catch it, he would have to rush like a madman, and his sample case wasnt even packed yet, and he himself felt far from agile or alert. And even if he managed to catch this train, his boss was certain to unleash a thunderstorm of invective upon his head, for the clerk who met the five oclock train had no doubt long since reported Gregors absence. This clerk was the bosss underling, a creature devoid of backbone and wit. What if he called in sick? But that would be mortifying and also suspicious, since Gregor had never once been ill in all his five years of service. No doubt his boss would come calling with the company doctor, would reproach Gregors parents for their sons laziness, silencing all objections by referring them to this doctor, in whose opinion there existed only healthy individuals unwilling to work. And would the doctor be so terribly wrong in this instance? Aside from a mild drowsiness that was certainly superfluous after so many hours of sleep, Gregor felt perfectly fine; in fact, he was ravenous.

While he was considering these matters with the greatest possible speed, yet still without managing to make up his mind to leave the bed (the clock was just striking a quarter to seven), a timid knock came at the door at the head of his bed. Gregor, the voice calledit was his motherits a quarter to seven. Didnt you want to catch your train? That gentle voice! Gregor flinched when he heard his own in response: it was unmistakably his old voice, but now it had been infiltrated as if from below by a tortured peeping sound that was impossible to suppressleaving each word intact, comprehensible, but only for an instant before so completely annihilating it as it continued to reverberate that a person could not tell for sure whether his ears were deceiving him. Gregor had meant to give a proper response explaining everything, but under the circumstances he limited himself to saying, Yes, thank you, Mother, Im just getting up. Because of the wooden door, the change in Gregors voice appeared not to be noticeable from the other side, for his mother was reassured by his response and shuffled off. But their brief conversation had alerted the other family members that Gregor was unexpectedly still at home, and already his father was knocking at one of the rooms side doors, softly, but with his fist: Gregor, Gregor, he called. Whats the problem? And after a short while he repeated his question in a deeper register: Gregor! Gregor! Meanwhile, at the other side door came his sisters faint lament: Gregor? Are you unwell? Do you need anything? Just a second, Gregor answered in both directions at once, making an effort, by enunciating as clearly as possible and inserting long pauses between the individual words, to remove anything conspicuous from his voice. And in fact his father returned to his breakfast, but his sister whispered: Gregor, open the door, I implore you. But Gregor had no intention of opening the door; he praised the cautious habit he had acquired while traveling of locking all his doors at night, even at home.