Franz Kafka never really wanted you to read his work. That’s the weirdest part of his whole legacy. Before he died of tuberculosis in 1924, he told his buddy Max Brod to burn everything. Every scrap. Every unfinished manuscript. The guy basically wanted his literary footprint erased from the earth. Thankfully for us—and maybe unfortunately for Kafka’s ghost—Brod was a terrible friend when it came to following instructions. He published them anyway.
Today, books by Franz Kafka are basically the blueprint for how we describe the modern world when it feels like it’s breaking. We even have a word for it: "Kafkaesque." People use it to describe everything from waiting in line at the DMV to getting stuck in a loop with an AI chatbot. But honestly, most people get Kafka wrong. They think he’s just this miserable, depressing guy who wrote about bugs. In reality, he’s surprisingly funny, deeply spiritual, and way more relatable than your high school English teacher let on.
The Metamorphosis: More Than Just a Giant Insect
You probably know the drill. Gregor Samsa wakes up, finds out he’s a "monstrous vermin," and his first thought isn't "Why am I a bug?" but "How am I going to get to work on time?" It’s absurd. It’s hilarious in a dark way.
Kafka wrote The Metamorphosis in 1912, and it’s arguably the most famous entry among books by Franz Kafka. But here’s the thing: Kafka specifically told his publisher that the insect should never be drawn. He didn't want the reader to see a beetle. He wanted you to feel the alienation of being one. When you read it today, you realize it’s not a horror story about biology. It’s a story about a guy who is only valued by his family as long as he’s making money. Once he stops being "productive," he’s trash. That hits pretty hard in a world of side hustles and burnout.
The Problem of the Translation
If you read a translation that says he turned into a "cockroach," throw it away. The German word Kafka used was Ungeziefer. It’s a messy word. It basically means an animal "unfit for sacrifice" or "unclean." It’s vague. It’s a feeling of being wrong in your own skin.
The Trial and the Terror of Bureaucracy
Imagine being arrested and nobody will tell you why. That’s the plot of The Trial. Josef K. spends the whole book trying to navigate a legal system that seems to have no rules, or at least rules he isn't allowed to know.
This is where the term "Kafkaesque" really lives. It’s that feeling of being caught in a machine that doesn’t care if you live or die. What makes this one of the most essential books by Franz Kafka is how prophetic it feels. Kafka was a lawyer. He worked in insurance. He knew exactly how much paperwork it takes to crush a human soul.
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He didn't finish it. Most of his novels are fragments. This gives The Trial this weird, dreamlike quality where chapters don't always connect perfectly. It feels like a nightmare where you keep running but stay in the same place. Some scholars, like Reiner Stach, suggest that Kafka’s own engagement-breaking and personal guilt fueled the narrative. It’s deeply personal stuff masked as a political nightmare.
The Castle: The Never-Ending Quest for Belonging
If The Trial is about being hunted by the law, The Castle is about being ignored by the world. A guy named K. arrives at a village, claiming he’s the new land surveyor. But the people in the castle—who run everything—won't let him in. They won't even acknowledge he's there half the time.
It’s exhausting. It’s long. It’s intentionally frustrating.
Kafka wrote this while he was staying in the mountain resort of Spindlermühle. He was sick. He was tired. You can feel that exhaustion on every page. Most people give up on The Castle halfway through because it feels like nothing is happening. But that’s the point. It’s about the struggle to find a place in a world that doesn't have a slot for you.
- It explores the "absurdity of hope."
- The bureaucracy is literal and metaphorical.
- The ending is missing because Kafka died before finishing it.
Why Kafka Matters in 2026
We live in an era of algorithms. We are constantly interacting with systems we don't understand—social media feeds, credit scores, background checks. When you look at books by Franz Kafka, you’re seeing a man who predicted the 21st century's biggest anxiety: the loss of the individual to the system.
He wasn't writing "literary fiction" to be fancy. He was writing because he was terrified of his father, his job, and his own body. His letters to Milena Jesenská show a man who was desperately sensitive. He once said that a book must be an ice-axe to break the frozen sea within us. He wasn't interested in "nice" stories. He wanted to rattle your cage.
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The Humor Nobody Talks About
Max Brod used to say that when Kafka read his work aloud to friends, they would all be doubled over laughing. We forget that. We see the black-and-white photos of his hollow eyes and think he’s a doom-monger. But the situations in his books are so over-the-top that they become slapstick. It’s the comedy of the impossible.
Picking Your First Kafka Book
Don't start with the diaries unless you want to feel really bad about your own productivity. Start with the short stories. "The Judgment" is a great entry point. It’s short, punchy, and ends with a guy jumping off a bridge because his dad told him to. It’s wild.
Then move to The Metamorphosis. Read it in one sitting. Don't overthink the bug. Just think about how it feels to let everyone down.
If you’re feeling brave, tackle The Trial. It’s the quintessential Kafka experience. It’ll make you want to scream at the sky, but in a way that makes you feel seen.
Actionable Steps for Exploring Kafka
If you want to actually understand books by Franz Kafka without getting a PhD in German Literature, here is how you should actually approach it.
1. Get a decent translation.
Look for the translations by Willa and Edwin Muir if you want the "classic" feel, but for something more modern and accurate to Kafka's weird rhythm, check out Breon Mitchell’s version of The Trial. It keeps the jagged edges.
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2. Watch "Kafka" (the movie).
Specifically, the 1991 Steven Soderbergh film or the more recent TV series. They capture the visual vibe of Prague—the narrow streets, the shadows—that heavily influenced his writing.
3. Read the "Letter to His Father."
It’s not a novel. It’s a 50-page letter he actually wrote to his dad (but never sent). It explains everything. The guilt, the fear, the obsession with authority. It’s the Rosetta Stone for all his other work.
4. Visit the Kafka Museum website.
The physical museum in Prague is haunting. Their digital archives show his sketches. Kafka was a doodler. His drawings are spindly, lonely little figures that look exactly like his prose feels.
5. Listen to an audiobook.
Kafka’s sentences are long and winding. Sometimes hearing them read aloud helps you catch the rhythm and the "voice" better than reading them off a flat page.
Franz Kafka didn't write for the masses. He wrote for himself, as a way to survive his own mind. By reading him, you aren't just checking off a "classic." You’re participating in a very private, very intense struggle to stay human in a world that wants to turn everyone into a file or a bug. Stop worrying about the "meaning" and just feel the atmosphere. That’s where the real magic is.