Adapting Kafka, Learn How to Do It with Peter Kuper While Maintaining Your Originality

The Fascinating Challenge of Reinventing a Literary Classic

Have you ever imagined what it would be like to wake up transformed into an insect? How would your family react? What would happen to your job and responsibilities? These disturbing questions are what Franz Kafka masterfully explored in his most famous work, and the same ones that have challenged countless artists who have attempted to translate it visually.

The Metamorphosis, originally published under its German title Die Verwandlung, is a novella written by Franz Kafka in 1915. Unlike his other stories that were edited incompletely and posthumously, Kafka managed to publish this tale during his lifetime, becoming one of the most heartbreaking texts in Western literature. The story introduces us to Gregor Samsa, who, from one day to the next, wakes up transformed into an enormous insect that makes it difficult for him to fulfill his daily tasks: going to work to support his father, mother, and sister.

At first, Gregor seems not to understand his situation and tries to continue his life normally, but it’s others who perceive him as a stranger, thus beginning a slow and painful extermination from within the family nucleus. As time passes, Gregor loses his humanity and ability to communicate, although paradoxically, compared to his environment, he appears much more human, as he maintains feelings of affection, interest, and empathy toward others’ difficulties. In a bureaucratic world marked by dehumanization, this moving character has no other way out but to perish as he is repeatedly expelled from society.

Peter Kuper published his graphic adaptation in 2003 with Crown publishing, creating a work of approximately eighty pages that has been acclaimed for its original visual approach. Want to explore how to develop your own visual style for literary adaptations? Discover more here. Let’s see what Kuper has achieved with such a renowned and adapted work in comics history, and how he has managed to imprint his personal stamp while maintaining the Kafkaesque essence.

Visual Narrative: When Format Becomes Message

One of the first artistic decisions that stands out in Kuper’s adaptation is the use of panels with black backgrounds that recall silent cinema. This resource is not merely aesthetic, but deeply symbolic: throughout the story, Gregor will lose his ability to speak and will be confined to inner monologue and his worried thoughts. What seems like a stylistic choice becomes a powerful narrative device that anticipates the protagonist’s isolation.

Kuper goes further and transforms Gregor’s own body into a panel, into a text box and, therefore, into a discourse itself. Everything about him speaks, despite his family and boss refusing to listen. This visual technique brilliantly conveys the lack of communication that Kafka captures in his original text, but taking advantage of the unique possibilities of the graphic medium.

In Kuper’s adaptation, any object can be transformed into a narrative vehicle. Even the bed becomes a text box, demonstrating the versatility of comic language when used masterfully. Black spaces acquire crucial importance for writing and for flooding the pages with words. There are no voids; everything becomes thought or monologue, emphasizing the character’s loneliness in a life he considers miserable.

This approach demonstrates the variety of panels, which adopt different pointed and angular forms that evoke German expressionist cinema. These unconventional shapes reinforce the sensation of disorientation and anguish of the protagonist, creating a visual parallel with his mental state. Kuper demonstrates that comics can establish a dialogue with other artistic traditions and be enriched by them without losing their own identity.

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Visual Metaphors: The Power of Institutional Oppression

One of Kafka’s recurring themes, what is often called “the Kafkaesque,” relates to institutional oppression and the suffocating weight of bureaucracy. Kuper captures this central dimension of the work through powerful visual metaphors. In the previous page, we clearly see a repressed desire to rebel against that system, stifled by the family institution, as Gregor cannot leave his job due to his parents’ demands.

Kuper presents us with a reformulation of roles where the protagonist imagines changing his size and gestural disposition in front of his boss to demonstrate superiority and express his exhaustion from constant mistreatment. Both bodies become enormous and each occupies half the page, as do their words, establishing a visual duel that represents the tension between them.

A particularly ingenious detail is that the boss’s speech appears in a dialogue bubble formed by the smoke from his cigar, a traditional symbol of power, virility, and wealth. This connection between the content of the dialogue and its visual representation enriches the narrative and adds layers of meaning that complement Kafka’s original text.

The society presented in the work is one where time equals money, where everything depends on work and the ability to maintain it, but at the same time, that same dynamic becomes a source of continuous torment. Kuper masterfully represents this in the following pages:

In the first image, we observe an hourglass that literally drowns Gregor, symbolizing the five or six years he will have to work to pay off the debt his parents have with his boss. This visual metaphor is tremendously effective in conveying the protagonist’s lack of autonomy and dependence, who lives according to others and his obligations.

In the second page, the moment when Gregor notices he might be late, the text boxes of his internal monologue begin to flood the space, overlapping in a disorderly manner in diagonal lines that drag the visual weight of the composition downward. This technique visually conveys the growing anxiety and panic he experiences at the possibility of failing to fulfill his work responsibilities.

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Confinement and Alienation: Geometry at the Service of Narrative

To convey the feeling of confinement with greater intensity, Kuper employs extraordinarily effective visual resources on pages 16 and 17. In the first, he represents the mother’s trembling voice through a dialogue bubble with curved lines, crossed by a wide diagonal white stripe that symbolizes the separation between her and her son, whose desperate voice dramatically contrasts.

In the second page, the composition directly evokes a prison cell. The appearance of the sister and father is framed in an arrangement of four panels that simulate bars. As a master stroke, we can only see Gregor through the keyhole, reinforcing his confinement and the impossibility of getting out. Only we, as readers, can observe him through that slit, becoming witnesses to his inability to show himself to his family and his progressive isolation.

These design decisions are not merely decorative, but reinforce the central message of the work: the alienation of the individual in modern society and the progressive dehumanization suffered when treated as just another cog in the system. Through the geometry of the page, Kuper manages to make the comic format itself become an additional narrative element.

Time as Enemy: The Tyranny of the Clock

As the story progresses, time takes increasingly invasive and oppressive forms, both graphically and symbolically. Kuper uses the clock as a fundamental compositional element that structures the narrative and visualizes the temporal pressure on Gregor.

In the first of these pages, the clock occupies the center of the composition, determining the arrangement of the rest of the panels. Its strategic location makes it the focal point, the first thing we visually capture. This dominant presence occupies the three horizontal strips of the page: first on the right, facing Gregor and in opposition to the window (symbol of freedom); then in the center, with a more complete form from which all dividing lines radiate; and finally, towards the bottom edge, like a strident sound that seems to transcend the physical limits of the page.

This sound comes from both inside and outside the narrative, as the caller is the personified labor society, as we confirm on the next page with the arrival of an emissary from his boss ringing the doorbell. Kuper reinforces this difference of worlds through typography: for this representative of the work world, he uses a more formal, sans serif font, contrasting with the typographic styles of the other characters and establishing a visual separation between the bureaucratic and family spheres.

These techniques of composition and integration of text with image demonstrate Kuper’s deep knowledge of the language of comics and his ability to make the most of its expressive possibilities, creating an adaptation that is not limited to illustrating the text, but reinterprets it in a new medium.

Authority Figures: Parents, Bosses, and the Loss of Humanity

When Gregor finally manages to leave his room, the reaction is immediate: the company’s envoy flees in terror while the father menacingly wields a cane to hit his son. In this scene, Kuper establishes an undeniable visual parallel between the father and Gregor’s boss, two figures who assault him both physically and psychologically.

This parallel directly connects with another fundamental text by Kafka, “Letter to His Father,” where the Czech author describes the deep feelings of inferiority and submission he experienced in relation to his parent. Kuper’s adaptation establishes this intertextual link visually, enriching the reading for those familiar with Kafka’s complete work.

The most disturbing aspect of this dynamic is the father’s transformation throughout the story. This man, whom Gregor considered defenseless and elderly, shows a disturbing vampiric capacity: as the protagonist loses his humanity, the father regains his vitality, as if absorbing it directly from his son. Progressively, he assumes an even greater authority figure, in a process inverse to Gregor’s.

Kuper uses a double-page composition here to convey the newly discovered immensity of this man who, until recently, appeared weak so that his son would work for the family’s benefit. Now, wearing a cap that symbolizes his new authority, he uses it as a weapon against Gregor, delighting in his power as if he had waited for that moment for too long. Meanwhile, Gregor tries to hide in corners, desperately roams the house but cannot escape his father’s blows.

This role reversal and the progressive dehumanization of those surrounding Gregor constitute one of the most disturbing aspects of the original work, and Kuper manages to transfer them to visual language with extraordinary force, creating scenes of great emotional impact.

The Ultimate Betrayal: When Family Ties Break

Although paternal violence is shocking, it is probably not the most heartbreaking scene in the graphic novel or Kafka’s original work. That honor corresponds to the moment of the sister’s betrayal, whom Gregor had considered his only ally.

The last time Gregor tried to leave his room was moved by the desire to hear his sister play the violin, demonstrating his fraternal love and appreciation for music, a properly human cultural element. However, she responds with absolute rejection. Kuper represents her with bulging eyes and a disproportionately open mouth, in an expression of horror and repulsion that visually communicates her contempt.

In a definitive act of dehumanization, the sister proposes getting rid of Gregor, denying any vestige of humanity that might remain in him. Suddenly, she too transforms into an authority figure, but a murderous one. The strength of her posture and expression dramatically contrasts with the protagonist’s image, reduced to a wreck in the right half of the page, now unable to defend himself even from the one he considered his protector.

This scene perfectly captures the tragic essence of Kafka’s work: even seemingly solid bonds can break when difference and otherness come into play. The universal value of this story lies precisely in its ability to speak about the human condition and our tendency to reject what we perceive as different or threatening.

Formal Experimentation: When the Reader Must Transform

One of the most innovative moments in Kuper’s adaptation is presented on the previous page, where formal experimentation reaches new heights. In an interview with The Harvard Gazette, the artist himself explained his approach:

“With ‘The Metamorphosis,’ my adaptation turned out to be longer than Kafka’s original story. I had previously adapted nine of his short stories in a collection titled ‘Give It Up!’ and greatly enjoyed the experience, so ‘The Metamorphosis’ was a natural continuation. Kafka’s writing acted as an anchor that allowed me to experiment with artistic form and really demonstrate ways of storytelling that could only be realized in comics. In one passage, to follow the text, the reader must rotate the book 360 degrees, which aligns with the images that follow Gregor Samsa as he climbs the walls. I was also able to bring a style to the story that, while reflecting German expressionist art, has a comic quality that highlights the black humor in Kafka’s writing.”

This passage is fascinating because Kuper invites us, as readers, to physically experience part of the disorientation and strangeness that Gregor lives through. We must rotate the book, change our usual reading perspective, and adapt to a new way of perceiving the page, just as the protagonist must adapt to his new body and capabilities.

This formal decision forces us to suffer or empathize with the experience of inhabiting an upside-down world, of traversing it in unexpected and twisted directions. To fully understand it, we must abandon our conventional reader “humanity”—the linearity and sequentiality we’re accustomed to—and move our corporality, like Gregor, to understand the world from a new perspective.

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The Challenge of Representation: Insect or Monster?

One of the biggest challenges when adapting “The Metamorphosis” is deciding how to represent Gregor after his transformation. Kafka deliberately does not specify what type of insect the protagonist becomes, referring to him simply as “a monstrous insect” or “a vermin.” This ambiguity has allowed multiple visual interpretations over the years.

Kuper opts for a representation that combines characteristics of various insect species, creating a creature that is recognizable as “insectoid” but without corresponding to a specific species. This decision is consistent with the original text and allows maintaining certain symbolic ambiguity.

The most interesting aspect of his approach is how he manages to visually humanize this creature despite its monstrous appearance. Through the expressiveness of the eyes and posture, Kuper ensures that we continue to perceive Gregor as a thinking and feeling entity, establishing a constant tension between his external appearance and his human interiority.

This contrast intensifies when juxtaposed with the increasingly dehumanized faces of his family, whose features progressively distort until acquiring more monstrous qualities than Gregor himself. This visual inversion reinforces one of Kafka’s central messages: sometimes, true monstrosity is not in appearance but in behaviors and attitudes toward others.

The intelligent use of black and white, with its strong contrasts, allows Kuper to play with shadows and create oppressive atmospheres that accentuate the nightmare sensation. The expressionist, angular, and dynamic strokes contribute to conveying the anguish and unease that permeate the entire narrative.

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The Use of Symbolism: Everyday Objects with Deep Meaning

Another notable aspect of Kuper’s adaptation is his masterful use of everyday objects as symbolic vehicles. Throughout the work, seemingly banal elements acquire deep meanings that enrich the narrative.

The window, for example, repeatedly appears as a symbol of connection with the outside world, a world that Gregor can no longer access. On several occasions, Kuper shows the protagonist contemplating melancholically through it, establishing a visual contrast between confinement and lost freedom.

The furniture in the room, especially the bed and desk, progressively transform throughout the story. At first, they represent the order of Gregor’s previous life; later, when his family decides to remove them to facilitate his movement, they symbolize the definitive loss of his humanity and his place in the home.

Particularly moving is the moment when Gregor contemplates the photograph he has on his wall, showing a woman in a fur coat. This seemingly insignificant image functions as a reminder of his past life and aspirations that are now unattainable.

Kuper takes advantage of these elements to create compositions loaded with meaning. At times, he establishes visual games where everyday objects acquire threatening qualities or merge with the protagonist’s insectoid anatomy, blurring the boundaries between being and environment, between the animate and inanimate.

This use of visual symbolism demonstrates Kuper’s narrative maturity and his deep understanding of the original text. Instead of limiting himself to literally translating Kafka’s words, he reinterprets his themes and concerns through resources specific to the language of comics, creating a work that dialogues with the original but possesses its own entity and value.

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The Art of Adaptation: Finding Your Voice in Dialogue with the Classics

As we have seen throughout this analysis, it is not impossible to find a personal perspective from which to contribute our own style to a work that has been revisited countless times. Peter Kuper manages to make us physically move, use unexpected spaces for text boxes, and give each character an original gestural quality that evolves as they dehumanize.

Adapting literary works to graphic format is not simply about illustrating a text, but reinterpreting it by taking advantage of the unique possibilities offered by the language of comics. When we face a classic like “The Metamorphosis,” the real challenge is not to be faithful to every word of the original, but to capture its essence and transfer it to a new medium, contributing our own creative vision.

Kuper demonstrates that even the most adapted and analyzed works can receive fresh and original treatments when the adapter deeply understands both the original material and the specific tools of their medium. His version of “The Metamorphosis” does not aim to replace Kafka’s text, but to establish a dialogue with it, offering new readings and dimensions that enrich our understanding of the work.

If you are considering adapting a literary work to comic or graphic novel format, remember that the most valuable thing you can contribute is your personal interpretation and unique style. Discover exclusive resources to develop your personal artistic voice by clicking here, and learn to combine respect for the original material with your own creativity.

The greatness of classic works lies precisely in their ability to generate new interpretations over time. Each adaptation, each new reading, constitutes proof of the continued vitality and relevance of these texts. When undertaking your own adaptation project, you don’t simply become a translator between media, but a new link in the chain of creators who keep these stories alive for future generations.