The 5 Stages of Readers Not Liking Your Character

Not all characters are likable. Not all of them are supposed to be or need to be… at least, not for a reader.

But writers do have to like all the characters in a story — not necessarily because those characters are right or because they’re great people or even sympathetic people, but because, if you’re writing this story, you have to spend a lot of time with them. Even if the villain is a genocidal pedophile who also abuses animals, you have to be able to see the story from his point of view to make sure he’s a consistent and compelling antagonist.

So, when readers don’t like a character, it can sometimes feel like they’re telling you they hate your best friend. Or, worse, like they hate part of you.

I’m lucky enough to have a whole roster of helpful critique partners and beta readers who’ve been helping me polish my current manuscript (… the one that took my attention last week instead of a blog entry… oops). This story has two narrators, and although most readers root unreservedly for one narrator, the responses to the other are all across the board.

Some of those helpful readers agree with her. Others argue about her motivations and how well her actions reflect her stated principles. Others stand with the characters who disagree with her. That’s great — she’s obviously interesting enough to those people to spark these debates.

But some of my readers, both people who are close to me and people I don’t know very well, dislike her as a person, sometimes enough to stop reading. That’s OK, too — I still love the people I love and respect my professional or personal acquaintances. It’s not the first time I’ve got feedback about someone finding a character I wrote to be unlikable. And it probably won’t be the last.

Most writers who offer their work for critique and/or publication get this criticism at least once. And, no, it’s usually not pleasant. So how do we deal?

Stage 1: Denial

“No, no, you don’t really  dislike my character — you just don’t understand her yet. Here, let me tell you why you’re wrong.”

I don’t know about you, but my knee-jerk reaction to someone disliking one of my characters is that their judgment is objectively incorrect.

After all, we write “character” because it’s too undignified to call these fictional people “my imaginary friend who I am literally always talking to or about whenever I’m not doing anything else, and, yes, I know the difference between literally and figuratively.” Besides, my opinion of my characters reflects my own worldview.

So clearly, this other person must be mistaken. My character isn’t arrogant — didn’t you read the paragraph two pages in where I specifically describe how stupid he thinks he is? Or maybe you don’t really think he’s arrogant, maybe you just don’t like him because you felt so much sympathy for my other sympathetic character that you’re taking her side. There, cleared that right up.

Stage 2: Anger

“Oh, so you really don’t like my character? Well, screw you. He’s perfect, and you’re stupid!”

Hmmm, you’re saying that, no, every part other than those three sentences where I say the opposite is what makes you feel like she’s sadistic? And it’s not just because you feel so strongly about the character she mentally tortures throughout the entire novel? And maybe I’m too close to the story to see it clearly?

Well, maybe you’re too close to the story to see it clearly!

Maybe you aren’t giving my feedback the weight it deserves.

No, all you’re doing is repeating what I just said!

Stage 3: Bargaining

“Fine. I guess maybe you really don’t like her, and maybe that’s a reasonable reaction. So… what if in the fight scene, I have her stop to rescue a kitten from a tree? That would show she’s compassionate, right? Problem solved?”

You’re right. I over-reacted a little. There are aspects of my self-image in my character, and when you criticize him, I feel like you’re criticizing me. And, hey, maybe we do disagree on different elements of what makes a person good or likable.

So I’ll tell you what: I’ll add a new sentence or paragraph or even a whole scene to change that trait of my character’s you think is bad. You think he’s careless? I’ll add a whole page about how he meticulously packs his clothing for an overnight stay.

That’s enough to make you like him, right? No? What about one page on the clothing packing, and I’ll change the scene where he gets lost to make him look up the directions on Google before he leaves?

Stage 4: Depression

“I’m the only one who cares about my character, and by extension about the part of myself he represents. I’m a weirdo, and everyone hates my manuscript!”

Oh, who am I kidding? A quick fix isn’t enough to make you like this character. Nothing short of me giving her a completely new personality and re-writing this story will work.

This imaginary person who’s so important to me will never inspire you to the same depth of feeling. I must love this character because I’m a flawed human being with an idiosyncratic perspective on life that no other person can share. I’ll never be a good enough writer to convey my subjective experience to anyone else.

Maybe I should give up on the entire story.

Stage 5: Acceptance

“All right, not everyone feels about my character the way I do. Does that match with my goals as a writer? If not, what can I do about it? Am I willing to do it?”

Or maybe, instead of giving up on life in general, and in specific, giving up on the thing I am so passionate about that I’ve spend my every idle moment of the last five years mulling it over, I should re-evaluate.

I don’t need every reader — or even any reader — to love my character as much as I do. I need them to be interested enough to read on and to accept the emotional truth of the plot I have in mind. I need them to be OK spending time with my narrator(s).

In some stories, yes, that means I’ll have to work hard to make my protagonist more understandable to people who aren’t me. She might be too sarcastic and cruel — I might be too sarcastic and cruel — and that’s masking the actual heart of this story and emotional truth of this character.

In other stories, like the one I’m working on right now, that might mean that the story isn’t right for some audiences. And… deep breath…. that’s all right. It doesn’t have to be everything to everyone. All it has to be is something important to me and to at least one other person.

Either way, at least people who adamantly dislike a character feel strongly. That’s a step up from “bored.” Something about her is real enough to elicit emotion.

And that, I can work with.