The Plight of a Female Protagonist
The “Save the Cat!” technique involves introducing a protagonist's essential qualities or moral principles through their heroic choices, such as selflessly rescuing a cat trapped in a tree. This advice is frequently imparted to novice writers, serving as a safeguard against committing the literary sin of creating an unbearable character. Likable people, after all, are far more compelling than unlikable ones.
However, an unhinged and seemingly unlikable character, Patrick Bateman, a successful serial killer, seems to have struck a chord with a generation that has embraced him as a symbol for all Sigma males. The misogynistic, consumerist, and psychotic fictional character initially sparked conversations about toxic masculinity and the dangers of capitalism when American Psycho was published in 1991. Originally a feminist critique, Bret Easton Ellis meant to use Bateman's cautionary tale against the encompassing detriments of the patriarchy. His obsession with status and appearance is one many men can relate to, particularly those in high-pressure industries. Batemen’s world acts complacent with his crimes, serving as a critique of the depravity of the business world and late-stage capitalism. Ellis meant for her novel to be read as satire.
However, for those who can look past his violent tendencies, Bateman has been hailed as a role model, devoid of any irony. He has become, for many, synonymous with peak masculinity and conspicuous consumption, with the archetype of the sigma male. This term, the latest identity to take over the internet, refers to a guy who resides on the margins of society. Unlike the alpha, a sigma will reject the conventions of society but is equally as influential and powerful. This mindset merges existing extremist thinking with grind culture posts and workout content, creating a combination of subcultures that glorify a dubious male archetype. Bateman has become the poster child of this movement.
Amy Dunne, on the other hand, was hailed a “psycho bitch” by a notably male audience who believed her hostility to be excessive and unwarranted. Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl is a satirical commentary on modern marriage, duplicity, and the culture around self-victimhood.
Amy is a warped reflection of femininity: How women are viewed as demure victims and how they are relegated to be subservient. She is a callous, vindictive woman who understands that she must be a “cool girl” to gain approval, lest they be seen as ball-busters or bitches. Her legitimate reasons for being vengeful are clouded by her petty manipulation and weaponized femininity as few people outside its main demographic sympathize with her. For male audiences, she is a “woman scorned” whose no-holds-barred revenge fantasy against her “good guy” husband is unjustified. This attitude is fairly typical of those who find the idea of a monstrous female to be offensive, unlike their deeply sexist counterparts. Amy Dunne is an unlikable woman, intentionally so. However, it seems as if the irony of Gone Girl was lost for some viewers. Despite her psychopathy closely resembling that of Patrick Bateman’s warped masculinity and murderous intent toward others, Amy is not held in the same regard nor subjected to the same standards.
Some of the most compelling protagonists have the same characteristics: messy, uncertain, and self-destructive. Their behaviors are representative of cultural attitudes and how real, flawed human beings act. Though not all unlikable female characters are enacting a revenge plot or committing evil, some are just making severe lapses in judgment. Ottessa Moshfegh’s “My Year of Rest and Relaxation” opens with a lengthy description of the protagonist's caustic insights into what disgusts her, like regular television and human interaction. By the third page, the reader finds a young New York woman, who is unnamed, losing money, and a spoiled heiress, as she prepares for a year-long sleep. Her self-induced coma, powered by non-prescribed pharmaceuticals, will be broken only by trips to the bathroom and bodega. Her world is hell, Clinton’s presidency is on its final leg, and, for the novel’s heroine, it is best to remain narcotized and misanthropic. She is cruel and self-absorbed, and while true to life, is not particularly likable.
Despite this, Moshfegh’s words are revered by a primarily female audience drawn to its message of anti-productivity. The novel’s unnamed anti-hero embodies the “sad girl” dream which resonates strongly in a post-pandemic era, where existential angst has become a familiar part of the collective consciousness. However, her misanthropic attitude is not universally praised with one critic expressing that “she was so unlikable that the flashbacks to her childhood did not provoke any remorse.”
Decades of chick flicks that present female characters as soft and digestible have led readers to place the label of “unlikeable” on the women who do not fit into this archetype. Moshfegh’s unnamed heroine acts in a way that opposes the normal expectations of womanhood by uncovering the feelings and experiences that women are encouraged to suppress. Likability is a facade, a performance, or a set of guidelines dictating the proper way of being, and characters who do not adhere become unlikable. Like the complicated, often contradictory demands of being a woman, being unlikable suggests navigating the fine line between being excessive in one aspect and inadequate in another. The silent implication of this fate is a pass to be dismissed or disempowered: She can, and perhaps should, be punished or put in her place.
The unlikable female character presents an opportunity for audiences to challenge the confines of likability while embracing the multifaceted experiences of womanhood. Like all individuals, women deserve the space to exist outside of gendered expectations.
Written by Catherine White, Social Media: Madelyn Jordan