A Critique of US/UK Cover Design Through the Examination of Jawbone by Monica Ojeda

 

The comparison of book covers from the United States versus the United Kingdom is nothing new, nor extraordinary. For “superpower” nations such as these two, all eyes are seemingly on them as the foundation of publicized media and popular literature. It has even become a “Who Wore it Better” concept between book lovers, using the different cover designs as jovial competition over visual tastes. However, the instance that personally pushed me from a passive viewer to a critic of this discourse was the differing US and UK editions of the translated novel, Jawbone by Monica Ojeda.

Jawbone is a horror novel centered around six wealthy highschool girls in Ecuador who use an abandoned building as an after school hangout to tell scary stories and plan cruel pranks against their teachers. Two of the girls, Anneliese and Fernanda, share an extreme bond which toes the line between friendship and queer relationships. The text focuses on themes of girlhood, motherhood, cosmic horror, and the development of cult leader and follower mentality. Ojeda utilizes Lovecraftian storytelling in creating scares for her audiences, having the main antagonist of the novel be the mere concept of the main characters. Nothing is more scary than the “blank slate” and potentiality young children—especially teenage girls—possess.

I originally brought Jawbone to my postgraduate MFA Writing course in England as a way of introducing Latino horror literature to a predominantly English readership. And while I was successful in my endeavor of gathering more interested readers to this genre, I couldn’t help but dwell on the UK rendition of the novel's cover design. It appeared like an entirely different story.

The American copy I was familiarized with and will be referencing is the English translation 2022 Coffee House Press edition. This version of the novel’s cover portrays a more “classic” horror look with an all black background and scratchy white text—much like scribbled chalk or carved wood—displaying the title and author's name. The title Jawbone and credit to Monica Ojeda are in relatively similar font and style, framing the focal point of the cover: the assumed faces of Anneliese and Fernanda.

The girls have visibly Latino features, and the design choice of their halved faces being stitched together implies the connection between the two. Like two pieces of different wholes forcibly sewn together simply out of desire to be each other's “other half.” Spiky leaves and bugs crawl from the rips in the sewing between them, displaying the madness that comes from the girls' minds, and also that being what tears them apart. The abandoned building the girls inhabit makes up the neck below, presumably, Fernanda’s face, as she is referenced in the novel as the darker skinned between the two (Ojeda, 2022). A white crocodile lies between the necks of the two faces, which serves as a nod to the crocodile jawbone they find, and the “White God” the girls imaginatively create from it, as well as another symbol of something that comes between their relationship (Ojeda, 2022).

While the US cover is jam-packed with details and symbolism included in the novel itself, the UK edition betrays no inclination of horror, nor the depth of the text within it. Almost like a “Surprise Inside” toy, Jawbone published by New Ruins Press in 2022 portrays a cheerier view of the disturbing horror fiction. Donning a bright shade of green, the UK cover of Jawbone keeps its imagery to the top right side and prioritizes negative space over details. In the small square of imagery viewers can see the figure of a woman in bohemian-esque clothing standing in a field of yellow flowers. There is no indication the woman is Latino, nor specifically in Ecuador. In place of her head she holds a circular mirror facing the rest of the flowery field, making her face seemingly made up of elegant flora. It almost resembles the trend of the popularized Booktok “Cottagecore” aesthetic in its reliance on nature-esque imagery and color. The title and author name fill up the bottom blank space of the cover in thick, block-lettered, black font. Both are the same size and sans-serif.

The choices in which these drastic changes were made truthfully perplexed me. For a gothic horror novel, why such cheery colors? If the whole novel takes place during or after school, why not include school uniforms? In a novel of all female characters, who is this mysterious girl in the field supposed to be or signify? Now admittedly, I have a bias as an American reader. I tend to prefer the oversaturation of detail than the lack. And while the creation of each cover was made informed by different cultural audiences, I couldn’t help but notice the route of colorblock and simplicity that UK publishers tended to lean toward. In Maisi McIntyre’s analysis on US versus UK book covers on website “Cover to Cover,” she notes similar observations to my own, stating “British covers usually have darker colors or more negative space whereas American covers tend to be flashier. Another thing is that American covers tend to show the characters on the cover. Real people.” (McIntyre, 2022). This description rings mostly true in consideration of the two countries covers. The US edition did indeed feature real faces, and included many flashy details, almost pushing the cover into over-inclusion chaos. As a reader there is immediate gratification in knowing what you’re getting into. And in contrast, the UK cover was extremely simplistic in its withholding detail and focusing on blank, green space. You’d have to open the book to know what’s inside.

Debatably both cover choices are strategically sound, however I somewhat disagree on the general stance of the UK publishers preferring “dark colors.” In my own observation I have noticed a difference in color choices on UK book covers when it comes to POC narratives. Novels published in the United Kingdom relaying stories from ethnic minorities and people of color seemingly display brighter, happier colors than the content within them. Such is the case for Jawbone, as well as The House on Mango Street (2004) by Sandra Cisneros which features the same shade of bright green. Additionally, Until August (posthumous, 2024) by Gabriel Garcia Marquez showcases a “circus top” of colors, with stripes of bright yellow, green, and pink atop a red background. And In the Miso Soup (1997) by Ryu Murakami, which shows a neon city overlaid by the cartoon-esque head of a neon pink-skinned girl and cutesy depictions of Japanese soup. I list these particular titles as just a few examples of POC literature and translated work, but also since their US counterparts depict much more somber, melancholy designs with color palettes and choices similar to the US edition of Jawbone. It raises a certain level of intrigue that UK publishers seem to be diverting from their audiences usual tastes in these regards. Perhaps it could be a choice in making the novels stand out more on the shelves due to their bright appearances. Or perhaps it could be an attempt to make these particular narratives more digestible to a mainly Caucasian audience by making them appear “happier.”

Regardless of questioning choices, there is one commonality in Jawbone between these two international publishers that is indisputable: the attempt to hide the aspect of its translation.

In Coffee House Press’s cover, the acknowledgement to Sarah Booker’s translation of the novel from Spanish to English is listed right below Monica Ojeda’s name in a standard typeface, serif font and relatively small, but readable size. However, the color choice for this recognition is an extremely dark orange, almost brown, easily fading Sarah Booker's name into the black background amidst all the large white text and other “flashy” chaos on the cover.

And while the US edition treats Sarah Booker like an aspect to be hidden, the New Ruins cover displays her acknowledgement like a purposeful afterthought. Within the negative space on the far left side of the cover is the credit to the translator in thin, tiny black font. In comparison to the thick styling of the title and author name, Sarah Booker's credit is like a black smudge in its smallness. If someone glanced at the cover too quickly, they could easily miss it.

Indeed, Sarah Booker is given credit on the cover of both versions of Jawbone, but it is seemingly begrudgingly so. In an interview with “Words Without Borders,” Sarah Booker states how she “always considered [herself] a creative person, [but she had] never been interested in the process of telling stories; translation…[is the] opportunity to intimately engage with the literature and language that [she] loves” (Aguayo, 2021). Booker describes translation as the “disruption of borders,” and has lived in the countries she translates for, such as Argentina, Ecuador, and Spain, as a way of developing her cultural understanding and skill in properly relaying the intent behind the words she translates (Aquayo, 2021). Originally from North Carolina, United States, Sarah Booker has a PhD in Hispanic Literature and clearly demonstrates a deep respect for the Spanish language, and culture as a whole (Aquayo, 2021).

So, what’s to hide here? Both editions of Jawbone were published in 2022, therefore within an extremely recent and relatively “progressive” time period. However, the fact of the matter is there is an unflinching stigma against reading books in translation within these two predominantly English-speaking countries. Research from the University of Rochester’s literary hub for International literature, titled Three Percent, states that “only about 3% of all books published in the United States are works in translation. And that 3% figure includes all books in translation—in terms of literary fiction and poetry, the number is actually closer to 0.7%.” (Three Percent, 2018). Publication of translated book statistics from the United Kingdom and Ireland gathered by Aberystwyth University in Wales yielded similar results, acknowledging this deficit in the publication of translated works “indeed oscillates around 3%” (Büchler and Trentacosti, 2015).

While in the grand scheme of publishing, 3% of roughly half a million to a million books published yearly is more than the standard person could consume in that time period. And with high populations of English-speaking creators, the market is undoubtedly oversaturated with home soil, originally English content. However, the principle of the matter is that the percentage of translated work is still far too low, especially considering the global statistics of other countries' imports of translated media. Published translated works have reached as “high as 50% in nations such as Italy, and up to 80% in even smaller countries” (Snyder, 2023).

Writer and Translator D.P. Snyder addresses this issue in her article “Stuck at 3%: Why Can’t We Have More Literature in English Translation?” which acknowledges the stigma revolving around translation, and foreign media as a whole. Snyder notes how translators are pushed into “an artificially low profile” given how their “names are often absent from many book covers, book reviews and other references to [their] work” despite the words that people are reading being their own (Snyder, 2023).

Jennifer Croft, who is also cited by Snyder, is a translator notably known for her article “Why Translators Should Be Named on Book Covers” wherein she describes how her effort in translating literature is no miniscule task. On her translation of Nobel Laureate Olga Tokarczuk’s novel Flights, Croft states “The reality of the international circulation of texts is that in their new contexts, it is up to their translators to choose every word they will contain. When you read [“Flights”] in English, the words are all mine” (Croft, 2021). It is the job and effort of translators to navigate the lexicon of multiple languages, and select words resembling the same slang, aesthetic, and tone of the original text, all the while keeping in mind the verbiages of a different linguistic audience. Translators are often the backbone of accessibility in literature, being the resource for wider audiences to have access to infamous texts such as The Diary of Anne Frank, The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, and The Stranger by Albert Camus; all the while maintaining the original voice in a new language. The most mass-produced and widely purchased book of all time, the Holy Christian Bible, is a translated book. Yet its religious interpretations rely entirely on the word choice of the translator.

This feat is no easy task, yet as Croft puts it “[there is an] underlying assumption on the part of many publishers seems to be that readers don’t trust translators and won’t buy a book if they realize it’s a translation” (Croft, 2021). In my own personal life I have heard the assumption that a piece of media is of “lesser quality” if it wasn’t originally produced in English. Snyder deems this concept as a questioning of authenticity: since it’s not in its original state, the preconceived notion becomes that it’s diminished in value (Snyder, 2023).

This stigma crosses platforms as Snyder points out, relaying the statistic that “Hollywood studios earn a whopping 70% of film revenue from foreign markets…yet only 3.5% of media presented in the United States is from foreign countries, a figure analogous to that of works in translation” (Snyder, 2023). The Americentric and Eurocentric dominance on media produces an “asymmetric” picture of what is popularized in artistic culture, which Snyder notes “produces a literary ecosystem that privileges anglophone narratives while tattooing American popular culture on the global consciousness” (Snyder, 2023). And while there are the instances of fanatics for international media such as Japanese Weeaboo or Koreaboo culture, these lend more so to the fetishization of different ethnic media rather than the appreciation for it. Despite some international media making its way into major American viewership there’s still those who attempt to dampen its global impact; such as Korea’s globally renowned and appraised television series Squid Games (2021) by Hwang Dong-hyuk being commonly compared in quality to Suzanne Collins’s The Hunger Games (2012) or referred to as a “Hunger Games rip-off” due to their shared Battle Royale Arena trope (Hill-Paul, 2021). This form of comparison and utilization of American media as a “blueprint” serves as a way of diminishing foreign creativity and heightening the supposed superiority of English-language storytelling. Examples such as these are just as damaging to the acceptance of an international market as they do little to praise the originality of international media, and instead treat its native culture and products as something to sexualize, objectify, or belittle.

The resistance in opening up to foreign media is likely also a matter of comfortability and fear in giving up colonial holds. Writer Gabriella Page-Fort writes in her article “Why Do Americans Read so Few Books in Translation?” that “what we read and watch in America is almost entirely homegrown” which contributes to the general reluctance in seeing media from outside the United States (Page-Fort, 2018). Americans have been disadvantaged with the flooding of purely American-made media, creating a bubble of one sided worldviews. Page-Fort points out how “authors like J.K. Rowling and Jojo Moyes top both German and American bestseller lists, but it’s rare for a German author to top charts in the US.” (Page-Fort, 2018). Due to the United States’s dominance over media, American consumers have thus become overly comfortable with being surrounded by the “familiar.” And despite its closeness to the whole of Europe, the United Kingdom shares similar statistics to the US, with much of their media influx stemming from “home grown” UK producers and major international influence coming from the US. Rather than branch out their markets to newer and diverse perspectives, it rather seems these two nations exist on a two lane road of sending media back and forth purely to one another.

In short, as readers and consumers we are still often only getting the colonizers side of the story, even in this “modern” age. It’s what we’ve become accustomed to as we have been inundated with only the media of these two global superpowers. And while there is nothing inherently “wrong” with the stories either of these countries produce, this imbalance has inadvertently created a fear of foreign media. A fear that, when rectified, has to be dampened down by strategic cover designs and hidden foreign status. The design of Jawbone tells us all of this. How to be a person of color in literature means to be hidden behind spectacle, or hidden completely behind the guise of simplicity. And to be a translator for foreign literature is equated to being a shame soiling a books cover. None of the publications surrounding Jawbone states any of this outright—it is just “design choice,” after all—but these resolutions lie in the cover's implications.

However, there is an air of hope Sarah Booker and fellow Jawbone translator Noelle de la Paz bring in their further interviews regarding Jawbone and the growing “appetite” for Latin American literature growing now in 2020s America and England (LALT, 2023). In conversation with the Latin American Literature Today team, the two translators cite the current “Latin American Boom” and the influx of magical realism Latino writers brought to international readership as what sparked interest in the growing market for Latino literature (LALT, 2023). And with authors like Monica Ojeda, Mariana Enriquez, and Samanta Schweblin rapidly gaining popularity despite their translated status, there is reason to remain positive this movement will only grow (LALT, 2023). As we slowly continue to globalize as a society, hopefully there will be more acknowledgement to the translators who have paved our way toward global connectivity.



Overall, what these major publishers and retailers listen to is the data that brings in profits. Literature is more accessible now than ever with the rise of Online reading and Audiobooks. Books can be, and are, everywhere. Their design choices and selected publications are informed by tracked readership purchases and preferences. Therefore it is up to readers to show interest in outside culture and translation. It is up to us to heal our cultural blindness and step outside comfort zones. So, go pick up that highly detailed or brightly colored book with the tiny translation note on the cover. Who knows, it might just become your newest obsession.