Sabyasachi Roy
Readers are drawn to interesting characters, but they frequently find it difficult to relate to a protagonist who is cold, self-centered, or ethically dubious. Our demand for relatability and moral clarity is put to the test by unlikeable characters. Rather than supporting them, readers are forced to face characteristics and actions they would prefer to avoid, which can be quite upsetting. Such individuals compel us to consider viewpoints that are frequently unnerving or at odds with our own beliefs, which creates tension. Yet, those are the characters we remember—because they remind us of them. Flawed, messy, and full of contradictions.
Take Humbert Humbert from Lolita—a masterclass in crafting a deeply repugnant yet strangely engrossing character. Humbert’s lyrical and self-aware narrative voice captivates us as Nabokov skillfully blends poetic descriptions with intimate and vulnerable moments. Nabokov confuses readers by making Humbert’s point of view so personal and captivating, obfuscating the distinction between disgust and empathy. His guilt and compulsive need are human moments that make us confront his complexity rather than justify his predation.
The trick isn’t turning Humbert into a misunderstood softie; it’s dragging us into his brain, whether we like it or not.
Whether your readers care about your characters is more important than whether they like them. The true killer of storytelling is apathy. You have already won the first half of the battle if you can evoke strong emotions in your readers, such as rage or dissatisfaction.
So, how do we pull this off? I’ve got a few strategies.
Revealing the Roots of Flaws
First rule: no one wakes up one day and decides to be a jerk for funsies. There’s always a why. Maybe it’s childhood trauma. Maybe it’s insecurity hiding behind arrogance. Or maybe it’s a toxic ex who stole their dog. Whatever the case, readers want to see what broke your character before they started breaking others.
Sethe, in Toni Morrison’s Beloved, is the best case study for this part. And going through the novel you cannot fail to notice that she isn’t winning any “most likable character” awards. You can easily feel that she’s haunted, secretive, and above all, makes horrifying choices. But then Morrison gives us her backstory—Sethe’s escape from slavery, the impossible choices she faced as a mother—and suddenly, her actions feel less monstrous and more heartbreakingly human. We don’t condone it; we understand.
For a contemporary spin, think of the television animated comedy–drama Bojack Horseman. Sure, he’s a talking horse (and a huge jerk), but the show peels back layers of trauma: neglectful parents, self-loathing, and an industry that chews people up for sport. By the end, you might still hate Bojack, but you understand him.
Readers may not like the character, but they will begin to care once they understand the emotional wound that underlies the action. That emotional commitment, whether it be sympathy, comprehension, or even reluctant respect, keeps readers turning the pages.
Cracking the Armor
Unlikable characters need moments where the armor cracks. Now, don’t get me wrong. It doesn’t have to be a full-blown sob-fest in the term of soap operas. Rather, it is much better for us to provide a glimpse of the raw nerves beneath their bravado. I understand, sure, it’s like finding out the office grump secretly rescues stray cats. Now, it doesn’t erase their snark, not by any length, but it makes them more human.
Fundamentally, vulnerability and “the wound” are two different but related ideas. The term “wound” describes a character’s underlying suffering, which frequently results from a traumatic event that shapes their goals. The character’s vulnerability, however, is how they show their unadulterated humanity in the here and now. We can glimpse the person behind the façade because of the crack in their armor. Showing a haughty, abrasive character lovingly tending to a stray cat, for instance, is not about revealing their past; rather, it is about revealing brief moments of true emotion beneath the surface of their persona. Even when a character’s injuries are concealed, vulnerability enables viewers to identify with them.
Even if they dislike the character’s decisions, readers are moved by moments of vulnerability. Readers find something to cling to—a human thread that keeps them interested—in these gaps.
Think of Walter White from Breaking Bad. He starts off as a bumbling chemistry teacher, but as his ego spirals into full-on criminal kingpin territory, we still see flashes of vulnerability: his desperation to provide for his family, his fear of dying forgotten. Those moments don’t excuse his actions, but they make us stay for the ride.
The Inner Voice as a Window
Hamlet’s “To be or not to be” soliloquy exemplifies the power of internal monologue, but it’s not a tool to wield indiscriminately. Yes, there are many writers, and very successful too, who spend a whole lot of time on ruminating characters. It’s more nuanced than just a monologue. However, the catch is to find the right balance. True, that introspection can deepen character development and reveal inner conflict, but at the same time excessive rumination risks bogging down the narrative. Therefore, effective internal monologues balance self-reflection with action. It should be a method of offering insights that propel the story forward. Strong writing uses monologues to illuminate a character’s evolution, dilemmas, or motivations—without derailing the plot’s momentum instead of overloading readers with repetitive inner thoughts.
Gillian Flynn in Gone Girl uses this technique with great effect. It is for the whole audience of the novel to see that Amy Dunne is manipulative, vindictive, and just plain scary. Yet, when it comes to her inner monologues it is so revealing. These are laced with biting wit and terrifying clarity and we all love it.
Complexity over Clichés
Writing unlikable characters, from the depth of your heart and thinking of all the unpleasant elements, isn’t just about slapping on flaws and calling it a day. Creating a character with richness and nuance entails more than just adding flaws. These characters feel genuine and force readers to face difficult realities about human nature when their bad characteristics are the result of recognizable desires, anxieties, or insecurities. Suppose, you created your “bad boy” with several ridiculous vices but actually is nothing but a leather jacket and a tragic past, I say, you’ve got a walking cliché. The same goes for the “ice queen” or the “evil genius.”
Instead, mix it up. Give your characters contradictions. Make the bad boy love baking. Give the ice queen a secret passion for karaoke. And please, and I say it from experience, for the love of plot, don’t make your villains evil for evil’s sake. It’s not as simple as slapping on quirky traits; contradictions make characters feel multidimensional and unpredictable, mirroring real people. When a villain has a relatable motive or a soft spot, it enriches the narrative, creating tension and emotional depth that keeps readers engaged and invested. You see, nobody twirls their mustache in real life, well maybe, except that one guy on TikTok.
Walking the Line between Empathy and Accountability
Empathy doesn’t mean letting your character off the hook. In fact, it is the means that allows your readers to see the world through their eyes. Let’s illustrate this a little. In contrast to “the wound,” which clarifies the reason a persona is the way they are, empathy discloses how they traverse the world irrespective of their flaws, attracting readers into their journey and allowing them to experience a character’s concept of perspective, even if they oppose with their choices.
The best thing here is that even when the readers are frustrated or infuriated by the unlikable characters, they tend to be attracted all the time because the best of these characters are multidimensional—flawed, vulnerable, and deeply human. In fact, the best unlikable characters are the ones we root for and rage at. It is a process through which they make us root for their redemption while raging at their choices, keeping us emotionally invested. They make us question our morals, our biases, and sometimes, our patience. These are the characters who constantly challenge our moral compass, exposing our own biases and pushing us to confront uncomfortable truths.
In Succession, Kendall Roy is a walking disaster of privilege, daddy issues, and questionable judgment. He’s insufferable—and also deeply tragic. In one moment, you’re cheering him on. But hold on. A few pages on and you want to slap him with a rolled-up magazine. That push-pull keeps viewers hooked.
I better get this straight: Empathy doesn’t mean making readers forgive your characters. Rather, it means making them care. It is possible that they might loathe the choices your character makes, but then, if they’re invested enough to feel that anger, you’ve succeeded.
If you wish to create such characters you are sure to cultivate in areas where they force us to navigate the gray areas of human behavior. They keep questioning what we would do in their place. In short, these are the characters that make stories unforgettable by keeping us conflicted.
Rethinking the Unlikable Characters
Unlikable characters are a breath of fresh, if slightly toxic, air, in a world full of flawless Instagram influencers and squeaky-clean heroes. It is this stock of characters who remind us that people are complicated, messy, and sometimes terrible. And that’s okay.
So, go ahead. Write the antihero, the trainwreck, the person your mom would definitely side-eye. But while doing so, just don’t forget to crack the armor. You need to show the wound. You need to make us squirm a little. After all, you know, isn’t that what great storytelling is all about?
And if your readers hate your character? Well, that’s just proof they cared.
Sabyasachi Roy is an academic writer, poet, artist, and photographer. His poetry has appeared in The Broken Spine, Stand, Poetry Salzburg Review, Dicey Brown, The Potomac, and more. He contributes craft essays to Authors Publish and has a cover image in Sanctuary Asia. His oil paintings have been published in The Hooghly Review. You can follow his writing on Matador.
Other Social media links:
https://www.eyeem.com/u/sabyasachi13/illustrations
https://www.facebook.com/sabyasachi.roy.31
https://www.instagram.com/pensoftworks/
https://sabyasachiroy.substack.com/
Featured photo: Walter White on Antoni Suárez Street, Valencia, photograph by Joanbanjo (Wikimedia)
