Metamorphosis

How might we design a book cover that respects and preserves the reader’s imagination?

Feb 2019 - Mar 2019 (1 Month) /

Eunjung Kim (Independent Project)

Metamorphosis is a well-known novella by Franz Kafka, originally published in 1915. Over time, it has been reinterpreted through countless translations and book designs. But I noticed that many editions—especially their covers—tended to focus heavily on Gregor’s grotesque transformation—emphasizing this appearance over his perspective. Designed as a personal project, this work explores how design—especially through form, layout, and paratextual elements like the cover and chapter headings—can shape the reader’s imagination. Instead of defining Gregor for the reader, I wanted the design to leave space for interpretation and empathy—inviting readers to experience the story more intimately, from Gregor’s point of view.

Adobe Illustrator

Adobe InDesign

1. Framing the Design Question

As I explored existing editions of Metamorphosis, I was struck by how many cover designs and illustrations portrayed Gregor from the outside—as something grotesque. These visuals often framed him from an observer’s perspective, emphasizing shock or fear. But to me, the story was just as much about Gregor’s emotional isolation and inner experience.

It made me wonder: Do these depictions of Gregor’s exterior—so monstrous and fixed—actually hinder the reader’s imagination? What am I being asked to empathize with, as a reader? What if a design invited readers to imagine it for themselves—on their own terms?

I wanted to design a version of the book that held space for that possibility—one that didn’t visually dictate what to see, but instead respected the reader’s imagination.

2. Research Process & Insights

What Are We Being Shown—And What Gets Lost?

As I examined different translated editions of Metamorphosis, I noticed that it wasn’t just the text—but the paratext (cover designs, typography, and layout)—that shaped how readers entered the story. In many English editions, Gregor is described as a “gigantic insect,” “horrible vermin,” or “monstrous insect.” These word choices, paired with visual depictions of grotesque creatures, often fix the reader’s attention on Gregor’s appearance from the very beginning.

Of course, Gregor’s transformation is central to the plot—but I couldn’t shake the feeling that many book designs were simply echoing the literal text, rather than interpreting it. They zoomed in on shock or spectacle, rather than creating space for the reader’s own emotional journey.

This made me ask:

What role does design play in shaping how we empathize with a character like Gregor?

And what happens when we design not to define—but to allow?

I collected a range of existing covers and layout designs. I wanted to design not just from Kafka’s text, but in a way that leaves space for readers to interpret it on their own.

This led me to a guiding insight:

Design doesn’t have to fill in the blanks—it can preserve them.

Instead of closing off interpretation, design can hold space for uncertainty and empathy. It can encourage readers to step into Gregor’s world from the inside—not just as observers, but as participants in his isolation, confusion, and quiet humanity.

3. Ideation & Concept Development

I began ideating around how to make readers feel like participants—not just passive observers. One thing I felt strongly about was not visually depicting Gregor himself. Instead, I focused on the room where he spent most of the story—his private, interior world. I believed that if readers could inhabit that space—where Gregor once existed and slowly disappeared—they might be able to understand him more intimately and arrive at their own interpretation of his experience.

This idea led to a book cover design that shows Gregor’s room from his point of view. On the front cover, the door is illustrated from the inside—referencing the moment Gregor watches his family look in on him. From his perspective, their gaze could have felt monstrous, filled with fear rather than care.

The back cover depicts the window in Gregor’s room—creating, together with the front, a sense of enclosure and interiority. When fully opened, the covers form a single continuous space: Gregor’s room.

I also considered how to extend this emotional atmosphere throughout the book. For example, in the running heads that mark chapter progressions, I created a visual rhythm that starts subtly fractured and becomes increasingly fragmented—mirroring Gregor’s internal unraveling as the story progresses.

4. Final Design

The book cover is designed from Gregor’s point of view after his transformation. At first glance, the front cover appears to depict a flat view of his room—but when opened with the back cover, it reveals a more dimensional interior space. This creates a subtle sense of enclosure and perspective, inviting the reader to step into Gregor’s world. To keep the focus on atmosphere rather than spectacle, the visuals are intentionally minimal, with subdued color choices that reinforce a quiet emotional tone.

The interior structure—chapter transitions, layout spacing, and running heads—was also carefully designed to shift gradually, allowing readers to feel Gregor’s changing emotional state. For example, each chapter begins with a door-shaped form rather than a typical chapter number—hinting at Gregor’s repetitive view of the closed door. This visual motif draws from the idea that, confined to his room, Gregor would have spent much of his time staring at it. In Chapter 3, a small apple is embedded in the door—referencing the incident that leaves a permanent injury on his body. These small interventions offer emotional cues without directly illustrating the story, leaving space for the reader’s own reflection.

Chapter

Running Head

You can view the digital version here. The physical copy is a personal edition with ISBN registration.

(Note: The digital version displays two pages at once.)