Try the following experiment. Ask an author what his book is about, and you’ll get a nearly complete overview covering characters, conflict, setting, message, and more. Ask him what the cover means, and you’ll most likely get a shrug accompanied by the words, “Well, there’s this and that—it’s up to the designer.” ”

It’s strange that writers, whose job is to tell stories, so often abandon the narrative precisely at the point where they have the opportunity to captivate their readers for the first time. I’ve attended more than a few book presentations.

I’m writing this from the perspective of a self-published author, so let me first be honest about what this observation actually covers. What applies to me doesn’t automatically apply to every author who stands before an audience with a book in hand.

It’s understandable why almost no one talks about book covers. The book market is oversaturated, and a reader’s attention span lasts about as long as a single scroll on a phone screen. It makes sense for the cover to speak to the reader on its own—that is, for the genre to be apparent at first glance, for the characters or plot to be instantly recognisable, and for the magic to be literally right there on the cover.

Recognizability means retail sales, and sales mean revenue.

N o o n e argues with this logic, including me.

But there’s a problem, and it’s a significant one. Something important is being lost. When the cover reveals everything expected and unspoken—who the heroine is, what the conflict is, exactly what the magic is—the reader is left with absolutely nothing to figure out. They’ve essentially bought a summary in hardcover or paperback before they’ve even read a single page. The cover tells them exactly what’s inside.

And curiosity is a fragile thing. Once you explain something, words turn like dust on the road.

So, should we talk or not??

A self-published author chooses the illustrator (or does the work themselves), approves every sketch, debates the nuances of colour, and pays the bill themselves. They and their artist are the only people in the world who understand exactly why this particular composition—and not some other—was used.

The upside is having complete control; you can incorporate symbolism that works because you know it intimately from inside out. The downside is that you bear the entire risk on your shoulders alone—the budget, the time, and your reputation—if the vision doesn’t pan out commercially as expected. No marketing department has tested it on a hundred readers before releasing it into the book world (I’m not talking about the few groups on a certain social media platform where one has the rare chance to post the cover for feedback, but the result is most often that the post gets rejected if it sounds too “marketing-y,” or it gets lost in the platform’s algorithm for a host of other reasons; in short—unsatisfactory testing.)

An author whose book is published by others is in a rather unique position. If they’ve found a publisher who wants to collaborate conceptually, that’s wonderful. If not, the author’s approval of the cover is rarely included in the publishing contract; yes, of course, there are consultations on the design, but how much weight the author’s opinion carries depends on the goodwill of the publishing house. The final cover comes after multiple versions and market tests that the author will never see. The final cover comes after revisions and market tests that the author will never see. The upside is that the author benefits from a professional art department and the reputation of the publishing brand—a level of support he could never afford on his own. The downside is that he risks the first impression of his own book being just as unfamiliar to him as it is to the reader.

Regardless of who makes the decision, however, the design of a good cover—whether created by the author or commissioned from a third party—follows the same rules.

The Rules by Which a Cover Lives (or Dies)

The question is mandatory; the answer… forbidden. A good cover leaves the reader with an unresolved thought. For example, why is this or that element there, why is the colour exactly this one and not another, what is that thing over there supposed to mean? On the other hand, a bad cover explains everything the eye can take in.

A literal illustration of a specific moment from the book is exhausted at first glance—you’ve seen it, and that’s it! Symbolism works in an interactive, intuitive way. It seems simple until you actually understand what it means, and suddenly it takes on weight.

What is left unsaid is just as valuable as what is said.

The cover shouldn’t give away any plot details. Its role, first and foremost, is to evoke feelings. Do you practice the “second-read test”? Close the book. Look at the cover again. If it doesn’t tell you anything different from what it told you when you first encountered it—before you’d even read a single line—then somewhere along the way, the promise has been broken—whether by the cover, the plot, or the very fact that there’s a disconnect between the two.

In practice, in practice…

The cover of my debut book, Divna, began with a question I asked myself together with the illustrator Teodora Dimova: how do you depict a secret in a way that the reader sees it on display without recognising it?

On the cover stand two Divnas, separated by a body of water like a mirror. The one above breathes the air of her human life; the one below is cold, otherworldly, with a Strandzha green flower in her wet hair—a fairy plant that few readers will recognise at first glance, but none of them will forget once they learn what it is. Even the title reflects on itself, split between the two faces, as if it were uncertain which of the two is the original.

I don’t tell the reader which of the two women on the cover is the real Divna. But I plant the seed of curiosity and leave it to the reader to nurture it until they arrive at the answer. I explained the entire reasoning behind the design choice in a separate post: “Divna’s Cover, or How to Paint a Mystery.”

Tell it if it's yours. Ask for it if it isn't.

I’m addressing the authors that I know read my posts. The next time you have the chance to present your book to readers, pause for a moment longer than usual and devote a few long, well-deserved moments of attention to its cover. If you chose it yourself, tell its story. If you didn’t, ask someone to explain it to you in depth before you stand before an audience with your precious work in hand.

Yours, the author

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