Franz Kafka’s 'The Metamorphosis' is a book that keeps on giving

It's only once we revisit them with fresh eyes that we discover new and exciting ways read between the lines, uncovering a cadence to the words that had once evaded us.

Kafka's hidden soundtrack, unveiled

Few readers might consider the musicality of "The Metamorphosis" at first sight, or rather, first "listen".

Initially, the sounds that guide Kafka's tense story – the tale of one man's miserable transformation into an insect – might fade into the background. But there's a repetition and fluctuation of sound – a hissing, reverberating back-and-forth – that serves a key role in the narrative: it mirrors the textual structure of the story itself, subtly reinforcing it.

We begin this journey with raindrops on the windowsill and the unsuccessful verbal sales pitches of the travelling salesman, Mr. Gregor.

Next comes the sequence of Mr. Gregor rocking in bed and the ticking of the neighbourhood clock. A chime announces the time – a quarter past seven. His mother repeatedly hammers on the door of his room, eliciting chirps from Mr. Gregor.

More sounds follow: mother's feet clattering on the floor, the doorbell ringing, the pop of Mr. Gregor falling out of bed, the squeak of the new boss's shoes, father's applause, even the rustling of two girls' skirts as they run to fetch the locksmith...

Voices continue to bounce around us. Father's steel chest cracks open. A wardrobe slides out of Mr. Gregor's room; a writing desk creaks; sister's hand connects with the table; the tenants' teeth chew as they eat.

And so it goes – silence punctuated by hissing on one hand and commotion on the other, like a musical concerto. This orchestration seems to follow a meticulous algorithm, presenting an interplay between joy and tragedy. We see this clearly as the sun emerges amidst a misty March day, or when sister begins to play her violin in the kitchen and father brings her to perform for the tenants in the hall, just as the narrative unveils a black hole.

An endless echo of slamming doors

The sound soon reaches a crescendo: the thud of a tenant on the floor, the sobs of a girl, the violin falling from mother's hand, and at last, the tower clock chiming three o'clock in the morning, marking the time of death of the insect into which Mr. Gregor had transformed.

The maid concludes this disconcerting symphony as she leaves in a huff, with a horrible slamming of apartment doors that echoes endlessly.

Amidst this racket, a dual impression emerges, one involving an absence of sound, and another including a notable image that appeals to another of our senses.

Regarding the former, there are sounds that the text does not care to describe. Here, it seems Kafka prefers to imply sound by the nomenclature itself, like with the word "train", which brings us to the end of the narrative.

And regarding the latter, in the midst of the cacophony of sound that Kafka orchestrates floats a photograph of a woman that Mr. Gregor "recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and housed in a nice, gilded frame. It showed a lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa who sat upright, raising a heavy fur muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer."

Mr. Gregor made every effort to protect this photo when his mother and sister were clearing out the furniture in his room. (Does the photo remind him of the cashier at the millinery shop who he failed to win over, for he was too slow?)

The photo could be perceived from a political or class perspective, but its fate is not revisited in the text – not even reappearing in the margins – leaving the reader to guess at its significance.

Nevertheless, you have now read Kafka's "The Metamorphosis" in a new light, transformed into one of the infinite forms the story can take, as though listening to the score of a horror movie.

Perhaps one that would be titled "March Fog: The Metamorphosis Concerto".