14). In fact, Gregor champions himself for his impersonal habit of locking the doors at night (p. 9). For Kafka, an oppressive rationality and the human experience, at least within the modern bourgeois value system, are synonymous. Gregor, who is fluent only in rationality and is loyal to the human social ideal, is tortured by his insectival state.

Consequently, Gregor fails to see that he’s capable of conscious irrationality. The metamorphosis seems a mistake, a wrong turn, a trap out of which the only escape is death. Walter Sokel goes so far as to say that Gregor’s true form is death (commentary in The Metamorphosis, Bantam edition, 1972). Perhaps in this light Gregor’s insect form represents a slow death, a chronic, fatal illness. Kafka saw his tuberculosis as a liberation; interestingly, he called it “the animal.” Further, Kafka found his passages on death to be his most compelling pieces of writing. But “The Metamorphosis” is more than a tale of suicide. For if Gregor is ultimately dead in the first sentence, what is the point of reading further? There must be a glint of hope for his salvation—and there is. If Gregor is capable of turning himself into a monstrous vermin, then he can change back. He just doesn’t want to.

It is guilt—that most revolting of all human sentiments—that prevents Gregor from embracing his insect form. Out of guilt, Gregor chooses not to relinquish his role of family provider. Though he laments his obligation, he never gives it up. In the final section, Gregor considers “the idea that the next time the door opened he would take control of the family affairs as he had done in the past” (p. 39). Rather than the absurdity of Gregor’s earlier denials, here Kafka focuses on Gregor’s ability to puzzle out his situation. There is an implied agency, as if Gregor truly possesses the ability to snap out of his state and return to his old self. Whatever his decision, he can’t help but fail. His escape is ultimately doomed by his utter devotion to his family, which never diminishes. The guilt brought on by Gregor’s newfound inability to provide for his family—financially and emotionally—prevents him from attaining any sort of liberation. Perhaps recognizing this conundrum, Gregor chooses to remain an insect. Though both conditions are unlivable, he prefers vermin life to human; it’s the lesser of two tortures.

Kafka’s story “The Burrow” concerns a character who inhabits the space between human and vermin. Though the narrator differentiates himself from the “field mice” (Complete Stories, p. 326) and “all sorts of small fry” (Complete Stories, p. 327) that occupy his burrow, he uses his unspecified but presumably human body in an animal fashion. He pounds the tunnel walls firm with his forehead (Complete Stories, p. 328); he fights and kills rats with his jaws (Complete Stories, p. 329).