On Reading (and Writing) Jerks
I am pretty much the only person who doesn't hate Tommy Mickens.
Sometimes even writers can’t stand their unlikable protags. The other day, I was talking to another writer, and the writer in question commented that she hated her one of her characters. “She’s so ANNOYING!” she said–but when I copped to enjoying that character’s arc, she added that she guessed that it was good someone liked her.
I’m not really rattled by unsympathetic characters as long as I understand them. I suspect I struggled with Lochan from Forbidden because there are plenty of poor children of divorce who don’t resort to incest–not only did I not like him, but I failed to understand the severe degree of his actions in light of his background. His actions seemed odd to me, and felt less than true to life. But honestly, that’s an unusual case. I’m usually all for characters who make terrible choices.
This isn’t to say that I like these characters as people. I probably wouldn’t want to be best friends with Quentin Coldwater, Bianca from The DUFF, or Tommy Mickens, but their actions make sense in light of their circumstances–I understand them. And I think that makes for good storytelling.
Sumayyah Dowd had a post today that was mostly about other things (revising history for the movies), but that I think helped me pinpoint what makes the unlikable tolerable for me: accuracy and discomfort.
I’ve never been much of one to turn to literature for wish fulfillment, even when I loved books that were about special girls riding gold dragons. Rather, I looked for books that illuminated real life (even through fantasy landscapes), bringing a secondary level of realization or depth to the world around me. In real life, I’ve often struggled to understand the terrible things people do: why they cheat on their spouses, or make such atrocious romantic decisions, or fail to see the very obviously correct practical career paths that are directly in front of them and choose to major in underwater basket weaving instead. Psychology is fascinating, and good literature can help us better understand human psychology even when we think we’re just reading about telepathic space aliens.
In real life, it’s easy (and perhaps mentally healthy) to default to annoyance, to think Get me the hell away from these people, to sever ties. But sticking around long enough to understand the motivations of people we don’t like can be illuminating, too. We can learn empathy, for instance, and come to understand why evil exists in the world, and why we should treat people well. Books with unsympathetic protagonists let us do that without, you know, forcing us to actually spend time around jerks.
And they also help us face the not-so-great parts of ourselves.
C’mon, admit it: you’ve made choices in your life that you’re not proud of. You’ve done ugly things, stupid things. We all have. Sure, those choices may have made sense to you at the time–in the heat of passion, flipping off your best friend at a punk show because she sat down next to the boy you liked seemed like the correct thing to do (um, if by “your” and “you,” I mean “my” and “me”), and you really thought you were doing the right thing when you read your boyfriend’s diary (that would be me again, of course), but I can’t help but wonder if the reason we’re so aggressive about characters who make bad choices is that somehow we think this will make up for the bad choices we’ve made ourselves.
Look, here’s a video where John Green agrees with me:
John Green thinks it’s much more interesting that Holden Caulfield is neither the guy you want to be with or the guy you want to be, but instead, the “guy you know yourself secretly to be.” And I agree that this is more interesting, edifying, enriching. If we’re out for accuracy–if we’re in this writing or reading thing for emotional truth and not just mindless entertainment and distraction–we’ve really got to embrace the ugly parts of ourselves, too, the parts that strike out and make ridiculous, stupid choices and are selfish and greedy and terrible sometimes. This is the accuracy that Sumayyah was talking about, the kernel of human honesty that literature is supposed to uncover.
So it’s not characters who make stupid choices–bad, selfish, ugly choices–who get on my nerves. Honestly, I have no problem with Bella Swan, a depressed teenage girl who has been forced to care for her irresponsible parents who are clearly incapable of parenting her, choosing to be with a guy who is a little threatening, intense, and fundamentally paternalistic. That’s a choice that I realize is honest. What gets to me instead is the notion that we’re supposed to celebrate this choice as the right choice–the right love.
Because I think if we’re going to have emotionally accurate characters, we have to adopt an expectation that our characters won’t always be heroes. Humans aren’t always heroic–they can be messy, ugly, selfish and weird. And emotionally accurate literature will reveal the ugly side of heroes. I think it’s a mistake to conflate “protagonist” and “hero.” They’re fundamentally different.
It would be easy to only read books where characters make choices we agree with–where our protagonists are also heroes, those unusual creatures capable of making all the right decisions under all the wrong circumstances. These books are more comfortable and force us to do less awkward examination of ourselves and the people around us. They never ask us to understand or empathize with people we don’t even like.
But they also wouldn’t be true.
If you ask me, it’s that truth–that fundamental frankness and honesty about the nature of humanity and our lives–that separates books that are just a pile of words from true literature. Truth is illuminating. Truth is good.
And the truth is, there are a lot of jerks out there (“There are more jerks than there are people,” as my Pop-pop used to say). I hope that writers keep cramming them into books, giving us people who are messy, ugly, and strange. I hope literature continues to be uncomfortable–that reading remains, at times, uneasy. To be honest, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Phoebe
Phoebe is a 20-something writer who lives in New York State with her husband and cat. She is a dork, not a geek or a nerd.
Her debut novel, Starglass, will be released from Simon and Schuster Books for Young Readers in Summer 2013.
17 comments
I feel like I sometimes have the problem where I'm too sympathetic with my fictional jerks. I have to understand them in order to write them, and then they're no longer jerks in my eyes, and then I worry that no one else will think them jerks either.
From what I've noticed, people tend to decide characters are jerks based on actions regardless of justification. But also, perhaps that extra empathy just means you're a solid writer? I would like to think so.
The problem isn't that you read your boyfriend's diary. It's that he HAD a diary to begin with.
It sounds like a real challenge to be able to write a jerk. In order to make them readable or have empathy towards such a character, does the author only have the choices of explaining that behavior or showing the growth of a character towards maturity? I mean, if you have a character that is hypothetically a lying and selfish individual that is simply that way because he or she always simply got their way and never actually grew out of that behavior or found any error in it, it would seem almost impossible to enjoy.
At least in Holden's case, by the end of the book he sort of recognizes he has some problems (even though you're still left thinking that he's still not taking the right direction at the end). I might not agree with his outlook on life, but it's understandable why he is that way. (Dammit, you're making me think about reading this book again.)
The problem isn't that you read your boyfriend's diary. It's that he HAD a diary to begin with.
He would tell you that it's a "journal" actually . . . but still, watch it, I'm married to the guy now.
i think character growth can help with empathy, but it can also seem forced if not done in a realistic way. And as odd as it seems, I don't know if I'm bothered by protags not acting in a way that's particularly 'enjoyable.' I mean, Justine Larbalestier's Liar was one of my favorite books of last year, and it's pretty much two hundred pages of a damaged girl lying to the reader.
Holden's case seems a bit different because he's narrating from a period of distance and so the growth seems pretty realistic. Anyway, you should read it again! It's good.
He would tell you that it's a "journal" actually . . . but still, watch it, I'm married to the guy now.
Your husband's Doug Funny?
"Enjoy" was probably the wrong word on my part. "Be enlightened" maybe? In the case of Liar, adding information that the girl had been damaged in some way is, in itself, enough to have some sympathy towards that protagonist I imagine. I wonder if either the purpose or redemption has to be in there in order to either get something out of the character or for that character to be interesting. Though, to be honest, a jerk's always more interesting than the perfect character (which is probably why people love Batman more than Superman at least in part I would imagine, and man, Batman can be a REAL jerk).
Your husband's Doug Funny?
Dude, quit.
Superman's a pretty big jerk, too. I suspect the difference is that he thinks he shits gold–he's pretty sanctimonious in some incarnations. Perhaps that has something to do with it.
It takes a lot of strength as a human being to understand the dumb ish that people do with their lives. I guess from reading book, we get the interior thoughts of people, their thought patterns, and we can analyze their meaning. They still may be doing dumb ish, but it makes more sense even if we don't agree with it. It's easier to deal with fictional characters than idiots in real life.
It's easier to deal with fictional characters than idiots in real life.
Ha! Definitely, Najela.
I don't have a problem with jerks who realize that they're jerks and the cast treats them appropriately. Holden knew he was a jerk and everyone (but Phoebe) knew that. Then you have Lochan (the sun shines out of his ass) and Bella (she's kind and self sacrificing) and almost every YA PNR hero/heroine. When your jerkiness is passed off as right without any acknowledgement, that's when I don't care to read further. I can empathize, and sympathize, but I can't swallow shit when I'm told it's sugar.
Ha, I hadn't finished my coffee and for a minute I thought you meant me-Phoebe, not Holden's Phoebe.
For me, it's not so much the character's realization that he or she is a jerk (Bella would probably never have that kind of self-awareness, nor would Lochan), but a sense that the author realizes it. This is mostly revealed, I suspect, by the reactions of those around the character toward that character. Quentin Coldwater in the Magicians is treated in accordance with his actions (he's called on his jerkitude by other characters), but meanwhile we get to hear about what a wonderful caring brother Lochan is. Even though guessing at author-motivation can be kind of a fool's quest, I think the line for me lies somewhere there.
I like this post a lot. I'm pursuing the career I am partly, I think, because I want to make up for the bad karma of my father, and partly because I want to help as many people as possible to make up for the suffering my own family has gone through. I am driven by this need to be a non-jerk, and to live that unjerkiness in my career; what I do for 80% of my life.
Last night J was playing his new video game, "Heavy Rain." He was telling us about it on vacation, if you remember. It's like playing through a movie, and you can make decisions through the characters. You can also make mistakes. Last night J's character had the option of shooting a guy, or talking him down and arresting him. He accidentally pressed the button that shot the guy, and he was so disturbed by this that he went back to the last save point and played through that section again so that he could make the decision he meant to make. Even in the free, non-judging universe of a video game, he couldn't live with being a jerk.
It's absolutely true that we've all made bad decisions; J and I both have, as you well know. And you're also right that these decisions feel justifiable at the time; it is only in hindsight that we think, "What the hell was I doing?" I like reading books with real, fractured, or flawed protagonists because I can identify with them and I can feel what they feel; maybe I wouldn't make that decision but I can understand why. I didn't get too good a feeling from Holden — although I agree that it's a great book — because I didn't see much change in him. The protagonists I love the most are the ones who are damaged in some way but who somehow make lemonade out of their situation. I love seeing transcendence. I'll feel fulfilled in reading a realistically flawed protagonist regardless, but when there is some strength inside of them that allows them to rise above whatever it is that made them as flawed as they are, that's when I really get going.
I like tiff a lot.
I think there is some change in Holden, but it's a bittersweet sort of self-awareness, not a major character shift–you get the feeling that he's on the road to redemption and mental health, but not there yet.
Incidentally, you and John are some of the best human beings I know. More proof that even good people are imperfect. But I wouldn't have you any other way.
i. love. this. post.
you know, there was this book i read agessss ago in middle school, which i think was called 'no promises in the wind', which takes place during the great depression. so in that book there's this teen guy who hates his dad because, for one thing, he gets incredibly pissed off when the teenage dude asks for second helpings, and other such stuff that he fails to understands. and then when the dude runs away with his younger brother, he actually does the same thing to his bro, and realizes how alike he and his father are, which may have been the reason for their discordance.
okay, i'm sorry about that huge ol' rambling comment, but what i'm trying to say is that, even though the protag was a bastard for a long portion of the book, i really understood him, and that part where he discovers his and his father's similarities, that struck a deep chord with me, because i couldn't believe how very much that applied to me and my mom as well. (i still don't think i'm making any sense, but there it is.)
so yes: GO JERKS.
Ha, I love rambling comments. I've had similar moments of realization–I think they're very human moments, and translate well to great literature.
My rule of the thumb I use to distinguish between well-written jerks and badly-written jerks (same with good characters/Mary Sues) is the author's approach to their own creation. Mary Sue is the author's darling who gets away with things any other character would get criticized for, and the universe almost trips in its haste to bend over backwards and accommodate her. A decent character has to live in a world which is mostly indifferent and sometimes retaliates with a vengeance.
It's very similar with jerk!characters. I do not mind them per se, but the author always needs to be aware that they are, in fact, writing a jerk. What sets my teeth on edge is the unlikeable, obnoxious characters being touted as desirable romantic leads/best friends/viable alternatives to main romantic leads *without* ever addressing their jerkish qualities. Therefore, the problem is not the presence of jerks as such, but a general failure to recognize what constitutes a jerk on the part of the authors. And this is the place where I'm all out of ideas, because we do not and probably cannot ever have a common jerk standard – what is perfectly acceptable for many popular YA authors, sends me into fits of rage. So there's probably no good solution for that except for preserving the status quo which is: they'll keep creating their obnoxious characters, and I'll keep complaining about it loudly with the use of many expletives.
Therefore, the problem is not the presence of jerks as such, but a general failure to recognize what constitutes a jerk on the part of the authors.
My inclination is similar. Only thing is that there are characters whom seemed quite obviously non-heroic in the eyes of the author to me (Bianca from the DUFF was one) but who have been skewered by readers for being unlikable or making bad choices. I think some authors make this problem worse–Bella's a good example of a character whose actions are clearly seen as heroic by the author but who just isn't a hero, when it comes down to it–but I suspect that the demand for characters who are both heroes and protagonists mostly comes from readers who have slightly simplistic desires in their reading tastes. It certainly seems more rare to me than the volume of complaints would warrant.
YAY FOR THIS POST! Continues to rec 'What I Was' at you. Meg Rosoff gets how to show off jerkitude in that book and her character is super self-analysing so the reader gets that his behaviour is not right. At the same time his behaviour is part of what helps readers connect to him, because like you say we've all done mean things and that connection helps readers be open to feeling sympathetic towards him when he deserves sympathy (I mean until the ending, I didn't like him at the ending, but that's just me).