Unlikable Characters and Glass Maze
My Clarion-mate Ramsey Shehadeh maintains an amazing blog that I visit often for its interesting viewpoints and incisive writing. He's a seriously awesome writer. You can read one of his stories here, Jimmy's Roadside Cafe in Strange Horizons. It's a post-apocalyptic story I actually love (and generally I find post-apo stuff dreary).
Anyway. Recently, Ramsey posted about Unlikable Characters, making reference to an item by Robert Bausch. The point Bausch made was that an author should never care whether his characters are unlikable so long as they are knowable enough for the reader to have an emotional investment in them. Ramsey generally agreed with this.
Speaking as a reader, I didn't. If a work's main interest comes from the protagonist (or protagonists) then I want that person to be someone I'd like to spend time with. Why would I develop an emotional investment in someone I don't like on the page, any more than I would in real life? Why would I want to offer mindshare to someone who icks me out?
There are of course exceptions, but when I think of those, they seem to fall into a few different categories:
1. Stories where the character isn't the primary draw for me.
This is often true of "idea" stories, where it's the idea that resonates rather than the person. An example of this is Bob Shaw's classic slow glass story, Light of Other Days. (Not that the characters weren't likable, but what made the story work for me was the idea, not the people.) Another example is James Joyce's Ulysses. Again, not that I dislike Stephen Dedalus, but what makes the novel work is a very cool idea, brilliantly executed. One of Ramsey's stories that he shared at Clarion also falls in that category for me, but since it's not yet published I'll say nothing more. Except that whichever magazine gets that story will be lucky.
Sometimes, it's the world-building that draws me in. Pern falls in that category, and Lord of the Rings. Harry Potter's universe. Again, I like the characters in all these books, but what makes them sing are the worlds they're set in.
Other times, it's the plot. The most basic of these kinds of stories are traditional epics and histories, real and fictional. Fairytales. Thrillers. It's less about the protagonist and more about what's happening.
2. Stories where the character arc forms a compelling tale of something human I want to know about, independent of the likability of the characters.
Macbeth, for example - quite aside from the poetry and drama and the wild evocative setting - is a brilliant story of an honorable man subverted by ambition. Anyone who's worked in any hierarchy would know that this is a story as timeless as any human tale. They may even have been tempted, at some time, to relive it. Romeo and Juliet works for the same reason, even though Romeo is as hormonal a teenage lover as you can find, desperately in love with Rosaline one day and Juliet the next. The Merchant of Venice. (Shakespeare was pretty good at that stuff.) Some of the stories of the Mahabharat also work the same way.
Some stories offer an attempt to get inside the head of a criminal or someone evil. Nabokov's Lolita is a story about a child molester. Generally, though, I prefer non-fiction for this.
The Standard of Likability
So what's likable? Ramsey suggests that likability is a "mushy and inaccurate standard..." Maybe, and maybe if publishers are limiting their purchases to likable characters, it's a problem. Especially if the standard of likability results in homogenized heroines and heroes.
For me the reader, it's a lot clearer. A likable character is one I can empathize with. I'd also like to point out that doing something evil doesn't necessarily make a character unlikable. Arthur, in TH White's Once and Future King, actually has a boatload of babies slain. Yet he's an eminently likable, even lovable. I think it's easier to like characters - whatever their deeds - if the author does so too.
Anyway. Recently, Ramsey posted about Unlikable Characters, making reference to an item by Robert Bausch. The point Bausch made was that an author should never care whether his characters are unlikable so long as they are knowable enough for the reader to have an emotional investment in them. Ramsey generally agreed with this.
Speaking as a reader, I didn't. If a work's main interest comes from the protagonist (or protagonists) then I want that person to be someone I'd like to spend time with. Why would I develop an emotional investment in someone I don't like on the page, any more than I would in real life? Why would I want to offer mindshare to someone who icks me out?
There are of course exceptions, but when I think of those, they seem to fall into a few different categories:
1. Stories where the character isn't the primary draw for me.
This is often true of "idea" stories, where it's the idea that resonates rather than the person. An example of this is Bob Shaw's classic slow glass story, Light of Other Days. (Not that the characters weren't likable, but what made the story work for me was the idea, not the people.) Another example is James Joyce's Ulysses. Again, not that I dislike Stephen Dedalus, but what makes the novel work is a very cool idea, brilliantly executed. One of Ramsey's stories that he shared at Clarion also falls in that category for me, but since it's not yet published I'll say nothing more. Except that whichever magazine gets that story will be lucky.
Sometimes, it's the world-building that draws me in. Pern falls in that category, and Lord of the Rings. Harry Potter's universe. Again, I like the characters in all these books, but what makes them sing are the worlds they're set in.
Other times, it's the plot. The most basic of these kinds of stories are traditional epics and histories, real and fictional. Fairytales. Thrillers. It's less about the protagonist and more about what's happening.
2. Stories where the character arc forms a compelling tale of something human I want to know about, independent of the likability of the characters.
Macbeth, for example - quite aside from the poetry and drama and the wild evocative setting - is a brilliant story of an honorable man subverted by ambition. Anyone who's worked in any hierarchy would know that this is a story as timeless as any human tale. They may even have been tempted, at some time, to relive it. Romeo and Juliet works for the same reason, even though Romeo is as hormonal a teenage lover as you can find, desperately in love with Rosaline one day and Juliet the next. The Merchant of Venice. (Shakespeare was pretty good at that stuff.) Some of the stories of the Mahabharat also work the same way.
Some stories offer an attempt to get inside the head of a criminal or someone evil. Nabokov's Lolita is a story about a child molester. Generally, though, I prefer non-fiction for this.
The Standard of Likability
So what's likable? Ramsey suggests that likability is a "mushy and inaccurate standard..." Maybe, and maybe if publishers are limiting their purchases to likable characters, it's a problem. Especially if the standard of likability results in homogenized heroines and heroes.
For me the reader, it's a lot clearer. A likable character is one I can empathize with. I'd also like to point out that doing something evil doesn't necessarily make a character unlikable. Arthur, in TH White's Once and Future King, actually has a boatload of babies slain. Yet he's an eminently likable, even lovable. I think it's easier to like characters - whatever their deeds - if the author does so too.