Franz Kafka Says the Insect in The Metamorphosis Should Never Be Drawn; Vladimir Nabokov Draws It Anyway


If you’ve read Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis in English, it’s likely that your translation referred to the transformed Gregor Samsa as a “cockroach,” “beetle,” or, more generally, a “gigantic insect.” These renderings of the author’s original German don’t necessarily miss the mark—Gregor scuttles, waves multiple legs about, and has some kind of an exoskeleton. His charwoman calls him a “dung beetle”… the evidence abounds. But the German words used in the first sentence of the story to describe Gregor’s new incarnation are much more mysterious, and perhaps strangely laden with metaphysical significance.

Translator Susan Bernofsky writes, “both the adjective ungeheuer (meaning “monstrous” or “huge”) and the noun Ungeziefer are negations—virtual nonentities—prefixed by un.” Ungeziefer, a term from Middle High German, describes something like “an unclean animal unfit for sacrifice,” belonging to “the class of nasty creepy-crawly things.” It suggests many types of vermin—insects, yes, but also rodents. “Kafka,” writes Bernofsky, “wanted us to see Gregor’s new body and condition with the same hazy focus with which Gregor himself discovers them.”

It’s likely for that very reason that Kafka prohibited images of Gregor. In a 1915 letter to his publisher, he stipulated, “the insect is not to be drawn. It is not even to be seen from a distance.” The slim book’s original cover, above, instead features a perfectly normal-looking man, distraught as though he might be imagining a terrible transformation, but not actually physically experiencing one.

Yet it seems obvious that Kafka meant Gregor to have become some kind of insect. Kafka’s letter uses the German Insekt, and when casually referring to the story-in-progress, Kafka used the word Wanze, or “bug.” Making this too clear in the prose dilutes the grotesque body horror Gregor suffers, and the story is told from his point of view—one that “mutates as the story proceeds.” So writes Dutch reader Freddie Oomkins, who further observes, “at the physical level Gregor, at different points in the story, starts to talk with a squeaking, animal-like voice, loses control of his legs, hangs from the ceiling, starts to lose his eyesight, and wants to bite his sister—not really helpful in determining his taxonomy.”


Difficulties of translation and classification aside, Russian literary mastermind and lepidopterist Vladimir Nabokov decided that he knew exactly what Gregor Samsa had turned into. And, against the author’s wishes, Nabokov even drew a picture in his teaching copy of the novella. Nabokov also heavily edited his edition, as you can see in the many corrections and revisions above. In a lecture on The Metamorphosis, he concludes that Gregor is “merely a big beetle” (notice he strikes the word “gigantic” from the text above and writes at the top “just over 3 feet long”), and furthermore one who is capable of flight, which would explain how he ends up on the ceiling.

All of this may seem highly disrespectful of The Metamorphosis’ author. Certainly Nabokov has never been a respecter of literary persons, referring to Faulkner’s work, for example, as “corncobby chronicles,” and Joyce’s Finnegans Wake as a “petrified superpun.” Yet in his lecture Nabokov calls Kafka “the greatest German writer of our time. Such poets as Rilke or such novelists as Thomas Mann are dwarfs or plastic saints in comparison with him.” Though a saint he may be, Kafka is “first of all an artist,” and Nabokov does not believe that “any religious implications can be read into Kafka’s genius.” (“I am interested here in bugs, not humbugs,” he says dismissively.)

Rejecting Kafka’s tendencies toward mysticism runs against most interpretations of his fiction. One might suspect Nabokov of seeing too much of himself in the author when he compares Kafka to Flaubert and asserts, “Kafka liked to draw his terms from the language of law and science, giving them a kind of ironic precision, with no intrusion of the author’s private sentiments.” Ungeheueres Ungeziefer, however, is not a scientific term, and its Middle German literary origins—which Kafka would have been familiar with from his studies—clearly connote religious ideas of impurity and sacrifice.

With due respect to Nabokov’s formidable erudition, it seems in this instance at least that Kafka fully intended imprecision, what Bernofsky calls “blurred perceptions of bewilderment,” in language “carefully chosen to avoid specificity.” Kafka’s art consists of this ability to exploit the ancient stratifications of language. His almost Kabbalistic treatment of signs and his aversion to graven images may consternate and bedevil translators and certain novelists, but it is also the great source of his uncanny genius.

The Metamorphosis was published 100 years ago this month. You can find copies of the text in our collections of Free eBooks and Free Audio Books.

Related Content:

The Art of Franz Kafka: Drawings from 1907-1917

The Metamorphosis of Mr. Samsa: A Wonderful Sand Animation of the Classic Kafka Story (1977)

Vladimir Nabokov (Channelled by Christopher Plummer) Teaches Kafka at Cornell

Josh Jones is a writer and musician based in Durham, NC. Follow him at @jdmagness

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Comments (15)
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  • adais says:

    there are so many who try to follow a different path of their human environment, they should watch this metamorphosis on their others eyes. And they will never reach Kafka or Nabrokov.

  • Michael says:

    This was a nice change from what we usually come across on the open internet. I am really glad that I have just discovered your portal. Interesting article, good angle, well chosen illustrations. I would, in this context of being a different portal,like to read something more about his “almost Cabalistic approach” and sign usage (what did the author exactly mean by it) in this or some other, future article,.Thank you again.It was a nice evening read.

  • Shaun says:

    Nice, but didn’t Gregor Samsa have hundreds of legs?

  • Steve Jump says:

    Perhaps because I come from where they are said to zoom, I’ve always pictured Gregor as an immense June bug, a type of scarab beetle.I don’t know what they have in Prague, but Nabokov’s drawing would make a fine police sketch of one.

  • David Williams says:

    My first thought on seeing the original cover is that the man depicted in the picture is Gregor’s father, distraught and almost maddened by what he has just witnessed in the room behind him (perhaps an early example of the visual approach to ‘horror by suggestion’later adopted by Hitchcock in Psycho?)

  • John Titor says:

    no, it just says he had numerous

  • rodney figaro says:

    The Richmond Shakespeare Society are producing Steven Berkoff’s adaptation at the Mary Wallace Theatre in Twickenham on June 3rd-10th.

  • Claudio says:

    Bug-Gregor definitely didn’t have 6 legs, so it wasn’t an insect. No need to be a zoologist to know that.

    Your are welcome.

  • John Stewart says:

    Excuse me I didn’t know this was a biology class

  • Someone Anything says:

    Gregor Samsa turned into a cockroach.

  • James M. says:

    Kafka isn’t describing an actual insect. It’s a metaphor for the disfigured soldiers coming back from the Great War who had grotesque injuries. The metamorphosis is the change the horrors of war had wrought on them.

    They often had missing parts of their face which required them to wear prosthetic masks. They would have legs and arms blown off requiring them to use crutches and prosthetic arms. They returned home damaged both physically, mentally, and spiritually, unable to return to their previous lives, feeling like a burden to their family and friends who now had to care for them entirely.

    The story is a complex allegory of the value of young men after they had lost their ability to contribute meaningfully to society, the role of women entering the workforce en mass, and the ethics of a culture that vilified the broken and downtrodden, treating them as less than human and a cancer to society.

    When viewed in this light, Kafka’s work is almost a premonition of the cultural beliefs that may have eventually contributed to the horrors of the Second World War and the Holocaust as well.

    Enjoy reading it again with that historical context in mind.

  • Gregor Samsa says:

    It’s open for interpretation.

  • Franz Kafka says:

    Gregor had 6 legs, he was a cockroach. It’s not that deep🙄

  • Quint says:

    Something of a non sequitur there given beetles also have six.

  • Me says:

    The picture on one of the books is a huge, but ordinary, household cockroach. It makes sense since Gregor had a wide, armor-plated body. In addition, he could stick to walls and ceilings, and like an insect, healed extremely quickly, except where this healing was hindered by an apple that was left logged in his back. I think if he could fly the book would have told us about it, and he was also described as being brown in color. However, I can’t find where it gives any reference to how many legs he has, except for the fact that he has more than before (2) and he says they are thin and spindly. Sorry about the biology lesson, I just know some people like to have a clear mental picture. However, it could also be seen in a metaphorical sense.

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