How does an author craft a memorable fictional character?  Authors have asked this question for hundreds of years.  Having an exciting plot is an asset to a story, but a story needs well-developed characters to make it exceptionally readable.  No one wants to read a book populated by flat or boring characters.

Portrayals of fictional characters vary by time period, and movies show how dramatic these changes can be.  In Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939), the good-hearted, optimistic, determined, trusting, and naïve Jefferson Smith tackles corruption when he is appointed to Congress.  Miss Sloane (2016) follows intense, drug addicted, Machiavellian mastermind lobbyist Elizabeth Sloane as she bends the rules to lobby for her clients.  In 2017, few characters like Mr. Smith exist, but anti-heroes like Ms. Sloane dominate the silver screen.  Anti-hero characters get buzz in certain corners of the internet, and some writers follow the trend by cramming their books full of these supposedly atypical protagonists.

Anti-heroes can be anywhere on a broad spectrum of character types.  They lack qualities common to heroes, possess typical villainous qualities, or can be anywhere in between.  The passive and ineffective Arthur Dent of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, borderline “sociopathic” (the correct term is psychopathic) Holden Caufield of Catcher in the Rye, or power-hungry cast of Game of Thrones are all anti-heroes.  This spectrum of characters can be separated into two groups: complex characters and anti-Pollyannas.  Despite common perception, writing an anti-hero is not a surefire way to create an interesting and engaging character.

Complex Characters

Modern authors did not invent the anti-hero, they only coined the name.  Authors have always created complex characters, with a realistic mixture of virtues and flaws.  The ancient Greek concept of the rise and fall of the hero asserted that all heroes possessed “anti-hero” traits that would eventually cause the hero’s downfall.  Take Jason, who was tasked with obtaining the golden fleece to prove himself worthy of reclaiming his rightful throne.  He struggled to complete the tasks required to get the fleece, so sorceress Medea offered to help.  With Medea’s assistance, Jason obtained the golden fleece, and they married.  After several years of marriage, Jason agreed to an engagement to a princess of another kingdom.  When Medea confronted Jason about his infidelity, he had no compassion for her.  She killed his fiancée with a poisoned dress, and killed the two sons she had with Jason.  Jason died miserable and alone.

Classic literature is also full of these complex “anti-heroes,” like the titular character in Anna Karenina.  Anna has a quiet grace and a sensitive, passionate temperament, but she craves attention.  Her boredom with her stodgy husband propels her into an affair with the dashing and irresponsible Count Vronsky, leading to her rejection from society and suicide.  Though the narrative criticizes the double standard women faced (and still face) for having affairs, it also leaves enough emotional distance between the reader and Anna to allow the reader to critically examine her decisions.  Sure, society was unfair to her while giving Vronksy a pass, but was she acting in good faith by betraying her husband?  No.

Plenty of complex characters don’t remotely qualify as anti-heroes.  Mr. Smith is a classic idealist hero.  He is also naïve and susceptible to manipulation.  Yet, these “weak” traits make up an innocent charm that melts the hard hearts of those around him.  Mr. Smith is intriguing, and he is of a personality type that is underrepresented in fiction.

Complex characters are like real people.  They have a combination of virtues and flaws, and sometimes make bad decisions that the reader isn’t supposed to applaud.  Readers are more engaged by characters who remind them of real people, regardless of whether they might be called “anti-heroes.”  Distinguishing between complex anti-heroes and complex classic heroes is meaningless semantics.

Anti-Pollyannas

You know these characters.  They’re aggressively amoral.  They live by their own rules.  They only care about power.  Or money.  Or women.  They’re violent, and give as much thought to shedding blood as you or I would give to a stranger passed in the street.  They are supposed to be…cool.

I think they’re boring.

James Bond is an anti-Pollyanna.  He’s about as deep as a puddle, and only cares about women and martinis.  He uses violence liberally, while Bond movies never pause to question his methods.  He doesn’t have many definable character traits beyond suave and charming.  The trick with Bond is that the actor playing him infuses his cardboard cutout of a personality with charisma, creating the illusion of a real character.  It’s why the franchise works.

I call Bond and similar characters anti-Pollyannas because they are the dark, equally unrealistic mirror images of the Pollyannas.  No one is perpetually cheerful, perfect, and adored by all.  Few spend their lives in perpetual moral grey areas filled with violence, boozing, and hot babes.  Do we really want to read or watch stories that glamorize characters similar to dictators, gang members, recidivist violent criminals, terrorists, and the like?

Unlike Bond, many anti-Pollyannas are three-dimensional characters.  These three-dimensional anti-Pollyannas are similarly psychologically unrealistic, and their narratives don’t question their actions.  They are the teen assassins that populate YA novels, or the gritty men and women in grimdark fantasies where killing is fine as long as the victim deserved it—as if anyone deserves assassination.  And despite being (teenaged) murderers under constant intense emotional stress, these characters can experience empathy and are capable of authentic romantic relationships.  Take it from a psychologist, the human mind doesn’t work that way.  These characters also do not experience realistic consequences for their ridiculously amoral actions.  Anti-Pollyannas are wish fulfillment in character form.

The current fascination with anti-Pollyannas says more about society than it does about what constitutes good writing.  Anti-Pollyannas are easy.  They don’t challenge us, unlike the tragic characters of classic fiction.  They aren’t psychologically realistic.  They’re cheap entertainment that pretends to be thought provoking.  Characters should provide more than cheap entertainment.

Where do we go from here?

You could argue that changing preferences for character types is like changes in clothing trends through the years: ultimately meaningless because catering to the current audience is all that matters.  You could also argue that writing good characters is timeless.  People are still talking about the tragic Greek heroes, the complex protagonists of classic novels, and Mr. Smith.  These characters still make an impression, even decades or hundreds of years after their works were written.  Pollyanna characters used to be popular but are now barely tolerated.  How much will audiences tolerate anti-Pollyanna characters in 50, 100, or 150 years?

Most novels will go out of print before the 50-year mark.  That fact is no reason not to strive for longevity.  Perhaps many writers lost the longevity battle because they catered to the fashions of their era too much.  If classic literature teaches us anything, it’s that creating lifelike, complex characters is one of the requirements for creating an enduring work of fiction that will engage readers for years to come.  Next time you craft a character, make sure it’s not an anti-Pollyanna.