by Donald McCarthy
Donald McCarthy advocates for using ‘unsympathetic’ protagonists and explains his process for writing one. See his work in practice in our [March/April issue, on sale now!]
The narrator of “Unidentified Aerial Phenomenon” is not a warm person. She’s cold to people she doesn’t know; she’s outright dangerous to those she does. Her obsession with finding a sense of meaning in life via UFO sightings and alien abductions has made her unable to function in what society would consider a healthy fashion.
I enjoy this type of protagonist. Looking over not just this story but most stories I write, I’d say that the protagonists I craft are not people I want to be friends with and, in many cases, would not want to run into. Yet, it’s from these types of characters that I find I can try to explore some universal truths and universal struggles. My narrator may not be a kind person, but her search for meaning is one most people can connect with. By extrapolating that sense of longing into an all-consuming purpose, the narrator becomes unpleasant, yes, but also very human. Don’t well all sometimes feel like we’ll be driven to madness by a lack of substance in our lives? Don’t we all have moments where we consider risking it all, tossing everything away in the hopes of finding a better existence? We don’t do it, but through this narrator, we can live vicariously to an extent.
The danger with the so-called unsympathetic lead, however, is that they become so unsympathetic as to turn the reader off. When constructing the narrator for my short story, I kept that in mind. I had no interest in softening the character’s edges, but I did need a reason for the reader to feel invested in the narrator. I came up with two solutions, although I knew there was no way to satisfy everyone, which is fine. Different characters click with different people.
The first decision I made was to make the narrator effective in her field of interest. She’s smart, she has successfully formed contacts that aid in her search, and she’s clearly informed on UFO sightings, including which ones are real and which ones are hoaxes. She’s not flailing around desperately; she has specific plans. This way, even if the audience finds her off-putting, her general competence makes her journey interesting to follow. I think readers respond to that. For instance, you might want to read a story about a smart, inventive hitman. You’re less likely to want to read a story about a hitman who keeps accidentally shooting people in the shoulder. There’s an attraction to competency.
My second goal was to give the narrator an origin story that makes her behavior logical. You wouldn’t (hopefully) approve of her violent actions, but it’s easy to see where they come from. This is a classic move when creating villains; when doing it with a protagonist, however, the truth of the backstory becomes all the more important. I assumed that most people have experienced a truly happy experience in their life and had difficulty then going back to the drudgery of daily existence. For my narrator, I’d simply be taking both the fulfilling moment itself and the reaction in losing it to the extreme. The benefit of science-fiction is the audience will allow that extreme to be, well, quite extreme.
Getting the audience to engage with this narrator is one thing. It’s a fair question to ask why I’m so invested in doing this to begin with. Why not just craft main characters that are likeable?
The pain and anger present in each of us can be safely explored through art.
There are plenty of likeable protagonists in fiction, and in some of my own stories, that I’m fond of, but by diving into characters who are thornier, we’re able to get at truths about humanity that are, shall we say, less than pleasant. The pain and anger present in each of us can be safely explored through art. It’s true for both reader and writer. I myself am not like the narrator, but the withering disdain with which she describes both the people and locations around her does echo my frustrations when I’m in a bad mood. Writing that feels therapeutic for me; as a reader, I find it just as illuminating to see it in a book or story I’m diving into. I believe many readers feel the same.
I also enjoy narratives that are ambiguous, which seems to be a thought disconnected from the idea of an “unsympathetic” narrator. I’d disagree, though. With an unlikeable narrator, we are forced to explore why they are the way they are and why we, as a reader, might be engaged by someone we’d otherwise not want to meet. The ambiguity is in the human experience: why do some of us become what we become? A protagonist that contains some of our less desirable traits can help us come closer to an answer but never fully provide one. It’s a situation both frustrating and fascinating. I find that the best of art feels that way.
Of course, by allowing us to explore ourselves, perhaps aspects of ourselves we are not fully comfortable with, is the unsympathetic narrator in actuality quite sympathetic? That’s why I tend to put unsympathetic in quotes, because I do wonder if even the most unlikeable of leads is someone we can end up sympathizing with to a degree. What does that say about us?
I’m not sure. It’s fun to find out, though, which is why I love cracking open a book with a lead character that’ll challenge my morals and my outlook. The narrator of “Unidentified Aerial Phenomenon” made me think about the purpose of life, or perhaps the lack thereof, in a way I hadn’t before. If she was more pleasant, more likeable, then I don’t think I would’ve exited the writing experience feeling how I did. I hope that you, as a reader, feel the same.
From Earth to the Stars 