Why My Antihero/Villain is More Likable
The Villain, Anti-Hero and Detestable Protagonist: How to Make Them Likable
By Bella, Editor in Chief
One of the greatest challenges in writing is not creating a compelling story but crafting a compelling character. According to Harvard Professor of Psychology Daniel Schacter, in Is Memory Connected to Creativity, creative cognition is key, making a compelling narrative less critical. Instead, it is character which entices the reader. If your protagonist is a villain/anti-hero one must explore how exactly, do you make them compelling, admirable and even likable?
FAMOUSLY LIKEABLE ANTI-HERO & VILLIAN TYPES:
Characteristics of a Tragic Anti-Hero or Villain: (According to The Little Bookish)
*Nobel intentions
*Motives stem from tragic past
*Vigilante who fights for justice outside of the law
Examples of Fabulously Lovable Antiheroes or Villains:
(I have provided links to the screenplays)
Hazahh—Emperor Peter the Great in The Great
Walter White in Breaking Bad
The Punisher in Marvel
Severus Snape in Harry Potter
In their article
The Effect of a Pratfall on Increasing Interpersonal Attractiveness Aronson et al suggest we are drawn to flawed characters due to their impaired moral compass, but what actually makes us obsessed with that character is a bit of clumsy blundering. When a superior person blunders, we develop affection for them. This phenomenon is supported by the wild success of compelling villains with mundane storylines like The Talented Mr. Ripley by Patricia Highsmith, American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis or the screenplay Natural Born Killers by Quentin Tarantino. However, merely being a flawed villain/anti-hero still does not give them carte-blanche to commit atrocities.
Most of us can find one—if not more—villains/anti-heroes for whom we secretly root to succeed. [1] Lists like this can persuaded us that we can create a likeable villain/anti-hero, but the question remains: how? This answer is based on Occam’s Razar—the simplest explanation is the best.
When creating a likeable villain/anti-hero, the moral needle can vacillate between good and evil. However, it must be balanced in timed doses using a cocktail of key endearment elements which allow the reader to excuse far more gruesome acts of evil by the villain/anti-hero. By implementing endearment elements early and often, the reader will not only root for your villain/anti-hero they will buy into the fallacy that he is secretly good at his very core.
The Trifecta of Endearment Elements (by Bella)
1. Vulnerability
2. Code of empathy
3. Satire
The Trifecta of Endearment Elements provide the foundation for the villain/anti-hero. In all three novels, Satan, Crowley and Dexter introduce the trifecta of character endearment and often.
Letters From the Earth by Mark Twain
Twain’s Letters from the Earth is among the easiest to analogize when instructing peers to make a stereotypical unlikable villain/anti-hero likeable, as it is teeming with a series of bitingly sarcastic epistolary observations of humans by Satan to the Archangels.
Obviously, letters from Satan’s point of view—in most cases—would be reviled and discounted. However, here Twain takes a different approach, which results in relatability. Satan, of course, is a liar, murderer, deceiver, and destined hellion, but Twain makes him relatable using vulnerability.
Vulnerability is the first and most important element in creating a likeable villain/anti-hero. Chase suggests this is achieved by exposing a hidden wound (2025). Introducing vulnerability through catastrophic emotional wounds early and often shifts responsibility from the villain/anti-hero and allows the reader to believe the villain/anti-hero is misunderstood.
Twain uses sarcasm, observational quips, hidden wounds, empathy, self-unawareness, undeserved misfortuneand incongruent humour all within a single passage just as Chase advised was necessary to build a “sympathetic character” (p.1). In concert, these elements work together to soften the edge of evil, prepare us to accept this entity as perhaps misunderstood or wounded (thus lashing out), and perhaps even worthy of a second chance.
We first recognize this pattern of softening the reader by the quip/epigram footnoted here.[2] This use of the quip/epigram still recognizes the aspects of Satan that could trick us, but uses observational quips/epigrams (a sliver of truth) which we have perhaps pondered ourselves, and then turned them around through the use of incongruent humourto reflect something funny, recognizable, or slightly off our usual expectations, but still true.
These tools work by using misfortune—whether it be humiliation—to soften a character who would normally intimidate us by making them fallible, or even relatable. We have learned through shows like Seinfeld what Plato illuminated from the beginning: Observational and absurd humour work hand in hand. Not only do they work well, but they work best together and with an element of malice! Being self-unaware works to engage the audience to either save or patronize the character. When a character is self-unaware, he believes he is smarter, more handsome, cleverer, even more brave, thus setting the reader/audience up to laugh.
Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
In the second work, Crowley, the villainous protagonist from Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett’s Good Omens, also uses the trifecta of endearment elements: vulnerability, empathy and satire.
Vulnerability—For Crowley, comes after being rejected and relegated to the evil of indentured servitude. Crowley doesn’t agree with acting purely evil, and when he deeply desires to save humanity, he is prohibited from helping despite his compassion for humans. He is characterized as “an Angel who did not so much Fall as Saunter Vaguely Downwards” (p 7). Here, we have a quip or an epigram where the narrator reframes Crowley’s fall to earth, making it relatable and human by suggesting he did something very human (something that any of us could have done). This disarms the reader, making them feel that he is not so bad.
Crowley uses observational humour and satire. Carroll defines observational humour as humour the protagonist is unaware of, but where the reader understands the circumstances and their absurdity (19). The narrator characterizes Crowley’s exit from heaven—for an egregious overthrow and disobedience—as a choice he made coolly, and the reader accept this as fact.
This also plays into Carroll’s self-unawareness or false conceit of virtue. Here, Crowley insinuates that he has simply left heaven and never did anything so bad to have been kicked out. The fact that we expect to hear Crowley fell (as the common trope), but here it is turned around (unexpectedly) and he therefore “saunters,” makes this incongruent humour (7).
İbiş, Tuğba plays on comic transformation, “allusions, and imitation” (presenting themselves as similar to the reader) play a role if the villain is perceived as a likeable antihero (104). There is a constellation of feelings the reader must manage which decides how they perceive a character. It is largely unchallenged that in every analytical text regarding Good Omens, Crowley is portrayed as an evil demon. However, the ambiguity of the character, and our illusions that are shattered by comic transformations, increase his likeability.
What makes Crowley an anti-hero rather than a villain? Crowley’s character answers the question of how authors make anti-heroes likeable by illustrating both good and bad behaviour, making him palatable, and even amusing to the reader. In The Good, the Evil, and the Morally Ambiguous, Kennedy also suggest Crowley is an eminently reasonable character who assists the “good angel” Aziraphale in their attempt to prevent Armageddon (72). Perhaps Kennedy’s best observation is that “this is Milton’s Lucifer problem: the attractiveness of the instigator” (65). We are attracted to Crowley because he has human traits, he is funny, he does good things, and his humorous observations make him an anti-hero, drawing the reader in to his expertise/authority.
Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeffery Lindsay
Our final manuscript, Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeffery Lindsay, also opens with vulnerability. Dexter’s wounds are deep and torrential from being orphaned whilst witnessing his mother’s gruesome murder. Dexter is also engaged with the trifecta of endearment early and often. This allows the reader feels compassion for our villain no matter what gruesome acts follow—and there are many. The violence is as frequent as his vulnerability, empathy, and humour.
Dexter is a more curious study, not because the book is verbosely written, nor because the setup is intricate. Dexter’s introduction piecemealed details about him personally that elicited sympathy from the reader.[3] Within this first chapter, we find out that Dexter was abandoned, he was lucky to be adopted, he doesn’t feel emotion, and he is a vigilante.
Dexter ingratiates himself to the reader using several elements of Chase’s sympathetic character. Dexter says, “I could never do this to children” (10). This establishes empathy for a vulnerable group—children. It also creates a common enemy—the evil person hurting them. Chase also suggests the character needs a “hidden wound” where “a reader sees your character struggle with a secret defect—or a troubling ghost” (5). Lindsay’s timing of incremental disclosure works well to establishes Dexter’s “hidden wound” (5). The hidden wound acts as a tool to engender loyalty from the reader by exposing a vulnerability.
Right out of the gate, the violent crimes that Dexter commits are balanced by empathy. His empathetic act of vigilantism for a vulnerable population—children—engenders loyalty/support. Moreover, Lindsay establishes Dexter as a hero by strategically engaging several of the ten tenants of Chase’s sympathetic character.
In the first section, Lindsay introduces both violence and Dexter’s hidden wound concomitantly: “I don’t have a family” (5). In the second passage, we see Dexter using a technique I would like to call Persuasion of the Self-Effacing Protagonist. “Somewhere out there must be people who carry similar genetic material, I’m sure. I pity them” (15). This brings in humour at one’s own expense, engaging Chase’s A Sense of Humour criteria, as well as engaging the observational humour and self-ridicule that Woods suggests goes hand in hand when promoting both loyalty and empathy from the reader (91).
Chase suggests another element to develop a likeable character is to make them “a victim of undeserved misfortune” or a Sympathetic Character (9,15). This too elicits empathy, a key point in creating a likeable villain or antihero. Dexter engages vulnerability, “I was adopted… Both dead now…Deb is the only person in the world who gives a...” (15). This passage falls under Chase’s Another Character Likes Your Protagonist principle, solidifying likeability.
Dexter meets several other points of Chase’s Sympathetic Character, but specifically Dexter Goes Against Type. This follows Caroll’s Incongruity Theory where “the object of comic amusement is incongruous,” coupled with Dexter’s internal duality of good vs. bad (16). These elements create an empathetic character who is also misunderstood, wounded and in need of the reader’s sympathy; the very bond needed to make our unlikeable characters likeable.
In each manuscript the villainous protagonists have duality. They are vulnerable, wounded moral characters with a villainous half providing the perfect storm for a reader’s immediate forgiveness and loyalty.
Each author has also employed empathy right away to make a likeable villain/anti-hero. Another common thread between these villains is their empathy toward a vulnerable group was introduced early and often. According to Carter et al, our innate attraction to bad boys is rooted in our psychology and allows us to overlook some villainous behaviours. Empathy allows the author to believe that the horrendous villain/anti-hero has a hidden heart of gold despite any “dark triad” characteristics: narcissism, Machiavellianism and psychopathy (Carter et al).
When we introduce empathy, any small, altruistic action going forward will give the reader faith that the villain/anti-hero is inherently good. It also gives the reader permission to overlook villainous flaws. However, empathy for the vulnerable group is not enough. In order to develop reader loyalty, the villain/anti-hero must selflessly and uncharacteristically sacrifice by putting himself in physical, social or emotional harm’s way for the vulnerable person/animal.
Through this analysis, we find that by using the trifecta of endearment elements: vulnerability, code of empathy and satire, together with a subset of secondary methods like broken allusions, humour, self-effacement, false conceit, duality, under-doggery, wit, intimacy and expertise (authority), the author can ingratiate the villain with the reader. Gruesome violence or evil is juxtaposed to their good in a similar way in which Shelly describes that Stockholm Syndrome or a “psychological response where individuals bond with their abusers or captors, often during prolonged trauma” is implemented (2025). When the reader is presented with intense violence, gruesome acts, and evil deeds, small acts of kindness are a currency that keep the reader feeling grateful and promoting positive feelings, loyalty and a permanent bond. In other words, what a likeable villain/ant-hero does is hijack your nervous system and kidnap your better sensibilities to make you their greatest advocate—and that is how to make a likable villain or anti-hero.
These small acts, whether good or bad, create intimate moments in which our villain brings the reader in, shares secrete knowledge, and develops an unbreaking bond. The reader then feels as if they are doing some good through supporting the bravery of a broken and well-meaning vigilante. These acts of relatability, duality, and kindness blind the reader from their flaws, finally making our villain/anti-hero likable.
[1] Dexter (from Jeff Lindsay’s Darkly Dreaming Dexter), Crowley (from Neil Gaiman’s and Terry Pratchett’s Good Omens), Satan (from Mark Twain’s Letters from the Earth), Elphaba (from Gregory Maguire’s Wicked: The life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West), Hannibal Lecter (from Thomas Harris’s Silence of the Lambs), Severus Snape (from J.K. Rowlings Harry Potter series), Lestat de Lioncourt (from Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire), Arsène Lupin (from Maruice Leblanc’s Arsène Lupin, Gentleman Burglar), Erik (from Gaston Leroux’s The Phantom of the Opera), The Creature (from Mary Bysshe Shelley’s Frankenstein), Frank Abagnal, Jr. (from Frank Abagnal’s Catch Me If You Can) or the character Lawrence Jamieson (from Dale Launer’s screenplay Dirty Rotten Scoundrels).
[2] Man is a marvelous curiosity. When he is at his very very best he is a sort of low grade nickel-plated angel; at is worst he is unspeakable, unimaginable; and first and last and all the time he is a sarcasm (loc 68).
[3] “But children?” I said. “I could never do this to children.” I put my hard clean boot on the back of his head and slammed his face down. “Not like you, Father. Never kids. I have to find people like you.” “What are you?” Father Donovan whispered. “The beginning,” I said. “And the end. Meet your Unmaker, Father (10).
I don’t have a family. I mean, as far as I know. Somewhere out there must be people who carry similar genetic material, I’m sure. I pity them. But I’ve never met them. I haven’t tried, and they haven’t tried to find me. I was adopted, raised by Harry and Doris Morgan, Deborah’s parents. And considering what I am, they did a wonderful job of raising me, don’t you think? Both dead now. And so Deb is the only person in the world who gives a rusty possum fart whether I live or die. For some reason that I can’t fathom, she actually prefers me to be alive. I think that’s nice, and if I could have feelings at all I would have them for Deb (15-16).
