Why Do We Love to "Hate" the Unlikable Female Heroine? | A Discussion About Every Reader's Favorite Guilty Pleasure
A reader's favorite guilty pleasure is assuming that the sharp wits, scathing remarks, and morally questionable actions of fictional characters are aimed directly at us. These books we have associated as our safety nets do anything to catch us during jarring experiences and the emotional turmoil that typically follows.
For instance, every time I revisit Cassandra Clare's The Infernal Devices trilogy where she showcases a love triangle with only right angles, I consistently brace myself from Will Herondale's cold remarks veiling his (obvious) affection for Tessa Gray and any cruel schemes completed by Jessamine, Nathan, Magister or other villains--not that the Magister's manipulation of his soul-fueled robot army sucks away any remorse I have toward his sorrowful past lending to his desires for revenge against Shadowhunters. Still, their flaws feel personal, their choices oddly intimate, and somehow, their imperfection makes the story better.
Moreover, despite the immediate hatred we are expected to feel for villains and their callous schemes, there are surprisingly many literature heroines widely disliked by readers--and by extension, the family members of said readers who have to listen to thorough dissections of the heroine's role in the story and cry spells resulting from the heroine's ultimate sacrifice to rescue their loved ones from poisoned cake.
And, while Joey undeniably reflects every reader in this scenario, I would also like to express how not-sorry I am for my past and future actions regarding my favorite novels and character.
Still, this begs the question: why do we love to hate these unlikable heroines, particularly the sharp-tongued, self-centered, and sometimes just plain mean ones that somehow steal the spotlight and keep us turning the pages until the night turns into day?
Warning: All of the declarations written by me and featured on this blog are my opinions. I'm an amateur literature dissectionist; further, I barely know how to write a story without one or many plot holes. Please respect my opinions. Moreover, if you share an opinion in the comments, I will respect your takes--even the burning hot ones--regardless of how I personally stand on an issue. If you come across a statement that you have an issue with, I highly recommend for you to consult your local librarian or book club to discuss incidental symptoms of hotheadedness, insomnia, snarky comments, frequent book hangovers, and possible death. This post is not recommended as book therapy or associated treatment for people with high prevalence of the above symptoms, and it is recommended for all readers to proceed and share at their own risk. Thank you!
First, let’s address societal expectations. Women in fiction are often expected to be likable, relatable, or at the very least, redeemable. For example, Sansa Stark from George R. R. Martin's Game of Thrones is everything expected of a young woman readied to marry the heir to the Seven Kingdoms: obedient, soft-spoken, and well-mannered albeit a rare occurrence of sass reserved for her siblings. However, throughout a series of torturous character-defining moments as Martin's story progresses, Sansa transforms into a woman that readers strongly admire yet fear. Strong-willed, resilient, and loyal in favor of Daenerys and her brother Jon's resistance against the presently-ruling Lannister family, she earns both fans and enemies; however, her power-hungry tendencies and ambitious attitude show another complexity to her character--even allowing readers to outspokenly crave a downfall in her plans.
Another instance would be when Celeste in Kiera Cass’s The Selection series is painted as the vain and ruthless "mean girl" who is laser-focused on attaining Prince Maxon's heart and the deeply coveted title as Queen of Illéa. But as the trilogy progresses, Celeste surprises readers by risking her life to protect Maxon and America, her competitor. Slowly through the trilogy, her vulnerabilities are revealed, suddenly transforming her from a villain we loved to hate to someone we grudgingly admire. Similarly, Nina Zenik from Leigh Bardugo’s Six of Crows is introduced as unapologetically brash and self-assured. Despite included as a protagonist of the story, she undeniably embodies traits that readers often find polarizing, making her a magnet for both admiration and critique from readers. These are classic cases of an unlikable heroine being redeemed by layers of complexity and growth.
Meanwhile, male characters, can brood, break hearts, and make all kinds of morally questionable choices while still being applauded as society's next "bookish boyfriend" and excused as “complicated” or “nuanced.” So when an author drops an unlikable female heroine into our laps, she feels refreshing.
But here’s the thing: unlikable heroines reflect real women. Not everyone is a people-pleaser or a cinnamon roll who always says the right thing at the right time. And, let’s be honest, who wants to be?
Unlikable heroines challenge the idea that women must be palatable to be worthy of storytelling. Instead, they showcase flaws in ways that resonate with readers who might see themselves in the unfiltered messiness.
Take, for instance, Cersei Lannister from Martin's Game of Thrones. Yes, despite not being a heroine, Cersei's story is a masterclass in making readers simultaneously love and hate a character. Her snark, cruelty, and morally questionable choices make her divisive. Yet, when her full intentions of keeping her family, especially her children, not only safe but alive in the midst of a dragon-led rebellion are revealed, many readers, especially those who are mothers or caretakers of a family member, suddenly see her in a new light. Still, this begs us to consider if Cersei as a bitter, vengeful, yet deeply loyal woman deserves a redemption arc or if she is irredeemable and should be punished with more than just rotten tomatoes.
Moreover, there’s a fine line between flawed and unbearable. When done well, unlikable heroines make us question our own biases.
Why does her ambition feel “too much” to me? Am I uncomfortable with her choices because they’re immoral or because they challenge societal norms?
But when done poorly, these characters turn into nothing more than plot devices for shock value or an author’s attempt at forced edginess, becoming caricatures overdressed in universally condemned values and unlikeable personality traits. For example, Storee from Megan Quinn’s How My Neighbor Stole Christmas is a prime example of this. On the surface level, she is quirky and sarcastic, traits that easily evoke adoration. But after further reading and analysis, her incessant snark crosses into grating territory, leaving some readers (ahem, me) rolling their eyes more than rooting for her. It’s a balancing act, and when that balance is off, even the most forgiving audience may find themselves not finishing that supposed "feel-good" story in lieu of reaching for another one.
Still, I believe unlikable heroines have a place on our shelves. They force us to engage critically with our stories, question our assumptions, and maybe even confront our own unlikable traits. Moreover, as I have matured and been exposed to more complex pieces or stories including advanced topics, I have come to enjoy reading about morally gray protagonists--even so far as looking forward to their written presence. Albeit their misunderstood pasts or questionable intentions within their fictional universes, it is refreshing to encounter characters who are neither strictly virtuous or are perpetually untarnished by faults or temptations.
Albeit not a female heroine, it's refreshing to consider that even the holiest figure of them all, Jesus, in the Bible was admittedly tempted by the devil several times throughout His life and during His preparations. Moreover, He questioned His purpose and final sacrifice. These situations and similar ones dispersed throughout the Bible remind readers that absolute perfection is unattainable for anyone...even for the son of a deity.
And, returning to non-biblical figures, morally gray characters resonate with audiences, when written correctly, because they reflect this messy, intricate reality of humanity that is complicated, often selfish, and undeniably flawed. Everyday, we face that perfection is strictly an illusion, and these characters remind us that these slight imperfections can be captivating, successfully driving a story forward and establishing a character as a timeless literary figure and, oftentimes, an inspiration for others. The complexities of these characters not only challenge us to question our own moral compass but to find empathy in the most unexpected places. And, that includes the countless number of family members and friends I entrusted to hear my most vulnerable thoughts about these characters.
And on a higher note, these characters are fun to include in thoughtful debates and deep philosophical discussions when it comes to values and beliefs--and who doesn’t love a good bookish debate with both readers and non-readers alike?
So, what’s your take? Are unlikable heroines misunderstood gems or literary landmines? Albeit YOUR literal perfection, which characters or literary scenes encouraged you to reflect on your own morals or biases? Is it possible for these unlikable heroines (like Cersei Lannister) to earn redemption from readers, or what are some common traits and actions that make this option widely opposable (such as in the case of the Magister)? Leave your hot takes below (bonus points if you can name a heroine you loved and hated at the same time). Let’s keep this discussion spicy--just like our favorite morally gray protagonists--in the comments below or via my social media accounts.
Love,
Nicole
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