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On Expectations of Female Characters: Guest Post by Trish Doller, Author of THE DEVIL YOU KNOW

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Today we have a guest post from Trish Doller, with a piece about why she decided to write her latest release, The Devil You Know. It’s a post about expectations we put on female characters, and why Cadie, the main character in Devil, came from those expectations. 


Bonus: a giveaway, including a signed copy of The Devil You Know and a paperback of Where The Stars Still Shine to one US/Canadian resident. 

I have a confession: I haven’t read any goodreads reviews of The Devil You Know. Because having already written two books, I can probably guess what the bad reviews might say. Cadie is a slut. She is a horrible daughter for not obeying her father. She is selfish. She is too stupid to live. She makes bad decisions. She deserves every terrible thing that happens to her. (You can go look to see if I’m right. I’ll wait here.)

I expect some readers to not like Cadie because the inspiration for her character was all the similar, terrible things readers said about Callie in Where the Stars Still Shine. Those reviews…I read them and it was so painful to see how unsympathetic people can be. Here was a broken, abused girl who was called a slut for the way she coped with her abuse. She was called a bitch for not always being nice to someone who was trying to be a friend. She was accused of being an ungrateful brat for not immediately embracing the good life her father gave her. 

Let me be clear, though…I’m not angry at those reviewers. They brought their own experiences and belief systems to their readings and they’re allowed to have their opinions. But I am pretty sad that we live in a society that makes it okay to call a girl “slut” for having sex or “bitch” for not being nice. I’m sad at how much we pass judgement on things that rub up against our beliefs, rather than practicing empathy.

Arcadia Wells was born from that sadness, a direct reflection of how it made me feel to see the hate heaped on Callie. If readers couldn’t muster sympathy for a brave, broken girl, I was going to give them a character who isn’t asking for their sympathy. If they had no difficulty labeling a girl who had been sexually abused a slut, I was going to give them a character who was unapologetic about her desires.

So I know there are going to be readers who hate Cadie. That’s fine. Because the readers who love her are going to see the girl I see. One who is brave and stupid. Strong and weak. A girl who wants to love and be loved in return. A girl who isn’t seeking permission or forgiveness from anyone but herself. 

I have another confession: I will probably never read any goodreads reviews of The Devil You Know. Because I wrote the girl I wanted the world to meet. She’s here for the sluts and the bitches and the selfish girls who dare to live.

On Being a Feminist YA Author and Daring to Write “Unlikable”: Guest Post by Amy Reed

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Today’s guest post for the “About the Girls” series comes to us from Amy Reed. She’s talking about writing those “unlikable” girls and why she does it. 


Amy Reed is the author of the gritty, contemporary YA novels BEAUTIFUL, CLEAN, CRAZY, OVER YOU, and DAMAGED. Her new book, INVINCIBLE, the first in a two-book series, releases April 28th. Find out more at www.amyreedfiction.com.







Something I see a lot in reviews of YA fiction (including my own books) is the complaint that a main character isn’t “likeable.”  A book can be written beautifully and have a compelling plot, but if the protagonist isn’t likeable, it’s as if the rest of the book’s great qualities don’t matter. It’s as if the book isn’t worthy of being read if the main character doesn’t meet a certain list of qualities that a perfect girl should have. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen this complaint in a review of an adult literary novel written by a man. In fact, some of the most celebrated books in the straight white male literary cannon—Infinite Jest, A Confederacy of Dunces, The Catcher in the Rye, anything by Jonathan Franzen– are full of main characters who are detestable. Lolita is about a pedophile. Crime and Punishment is about a murderer. No one says these books suck because the main character is unlikeable. These books, these characters, are judged by a different set of criteria. 

So who are these girls we’re supposed to be writing? Are they girls we think our readers would want to be friends with? Are they girls we think boys want to date? I think about some of the best-selling YA books I’ve read over the years, and there is definitely a standard “type” in many of them. These girls are white and of average height. They are thin, but not too thin. They are smart, but not too smart. They are a little bit shy, but not disastrously so. They are mostly nice, and when they are not nice, they feel bad about it. They make mistakes, but recognize them quickly. They want to be good. They fall deeply and madly in love with a boy, and that love defines them. The conflicts in their lives tend to be external rather than resulting from their own character flaws. Theirs are the stories of good girls fighting against a world that wants to corrupt good girls. 

But what about the rest of us? I imagine myself as a teenager and reading these characters. I imagine myself throwing these books across the room. Not because they are not good books, but because I did not see myself in their pages. I was not the good girl they described. I was a girl who did bad things and did not always feel bad about them. I was a girl who struggled with addiction and mental illness. I starved myself skinny and I ate myself borderline obese. I loved both boys and girls, but my relationships were rarely about love. My friendships were deep and passionate and far more meaningful than any romance. I was a leader, a loner, and sometimes a follower. I was a mean girl and I was bullied. I was too smart and too entitled. I was a bitch and I was a victim. I was obnoxious and righteous, and I was pathologically shy and insecure. I was a million different kinds of girls. And they were all valid. 

These are the girls I know. These are the girls I write. They are sometimes unlikable, but they are always worthy of love. They are worthy of having their stories told.

I am a feminist YA author. I want a feminist YA. I want a YA where all girls see themselves represented, where all girls see hope and truth, struggle and redemption. I want them to find home inside the pages. I want them to find both escape and gritty reality. I want them to see their mistakes being made, their feelings being felt, and their problems being resolved. I want them to know it is okay that they exist. I want them to know their existence is worthy of being written about.

If we are to have a feminist YA, we must write about all the girls, not just the ones that are “likeable”. Because “likeable” is just another way of prescribing a right way to be a girl. Because girls and women are complicated and deep and layered and messy and infinitely fascinating. Because if male characters are allowed to be those things and still be worthy of reading, so should female characters. Because I don’t want to read just one kind of woman. Because I don’t want to be one kind of woman. Because if we do not give our female characters the right to be all kinds of women, how do we expect our readers to know they have that right, too?

***

Invincible will be available April 28. 

Some Girls Are Not Okay, and That’s Not Fine: Guest Post by Elizabeth Scott

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We’ve talked about “unlikable” ladies in this series a couple of times, but it doesn’t hurt to hammer it home another time. Today, Elizabeth Scott talks about writing girls who become unlikable to readers and about who is guilty of labeling girls as such.





Elizabeth Scott grew up in a town so small it didn’t even have a post office, thought it did boast an impressive cattle population. She’s sold hardware and pantyhose, and had a memorable three day stint in the dot.com industry where she learned she really didn’t want a career burning CDs. She’s the author of twelve YA novels, the latest of which is Heartbeat. You can find her at elizabethwrites.com or @escottwrites. 


I write stories about girls. And a lot of the time, some people get very upset with the way my heroines act­­or react­­ to what’s going on around them.

My girls have been called mean, uncaring, whiny, stupid­­ and that’s just a start.

Here’s the kicker. T­the people saying these things?  Other girls. Other women.

And yes, of course anyone who reads a book is entitled to their own opinion. If you think a main character in my books is someone you wished would get punched, or is a bitch, or stupid for being angry, then you have every right to think and say that.

I’m just wondering why.

Why is it so bad for a teenage girl to be angry?

In my latest novel, Heartbeat, Emma’s pregnant mother dies suddenly, and Emma’s stepfather, Dan, chooses to put his dead wife on life support because the baby she’s carrying is still alive.

The thing is, he didn’t ask Emma what she thought about his choice. And okay, he’s an adult, but he’s also her family. And it’s her mother.

Emma takes what Dan does as a betrayal. Not just of her, but of what she believes her mother was thinking about her at­risk pregnancy.

She doesn’t get depressed, at least not by conventional standards. Instead she lashes out. She gets angry. She looks at her stepfather, who has always been her ally since the moment he entered her life, and sees someone who didn’t think of her once when her mother died.

She isn’t kind to him. I think that’s okay, because she’s grieving.

But some readers think it isn’t, and that makes me wonder

Why do darker emotions like ­­grief or anger­­ provoke such visceral responses? To make reviewers label Emma as thoughtless, selfish, cruel. As a bitch.

If Emma had been male, would her anger make female readers so angry?

I want to think so, but I’m not sure it’s true.

I don’t want to think female readers of YA are uncomfortable with strong emotions like rage in stories about teenage girls. I don’t want to think that women are afraid of women with problems. I’d like to think that it’s because it’s easy to forget how hard it can be to be a teenage girl who’s suffering and who shows it.

I’d like to think that, but I’m not sure it’s true.

I know readers come to books with their own experiences and that not every girl can be liked.

But are girls who cheat on their boyfriend or detach from life after surviving a plane crash or who are in the stranglehold of a five­ year captivity or who lost their best friend with no explanation or who are angry that their mother is dead that bad? Is it so impossible to read stories about girls like this and think that they are something beyond selfish or stupid or cruel?

Is it possible to think they are simply human?

I hope so.

I’d like to think other female readers do too.

***


Elizabeth Scott’s most recent release, Heartbeat, is available now. 

I love “unlikable,” I write “unlikable,” and I am “unlikable”: Justina Ireland on “Unlikable” Girls

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Now that we’re clear on what an unlikable female character looks like in the wild, why don’t we dive into that a little bit further and talk about why we need unlikable characters? Today, Justina Ireland — who has had her own girl characters called unlikable — talks about this label, what it means, and she offers a reading list of unlikable girls you should be reading. 

Justina Ireland lives in a house made of books. At least that’s the excuse she gives when people trip over one. When she isn’t accidentally killing house guests with her TBR pile she writes books. She is the author of Vengeance Bound and Promise of Shadows, both available from Simon and Schuster Books for Young Readers. When she isn’t reading she enjoys eating, sleeping, and watching Judge Judy on her DVR. You can usually find her on Twitter @tehawesomersace or at her website justinaireland.com. 



There’s been a lot of talk lately of what people are calling “unlikeable”* main characters. If you haven’t heard any of the great discussion around unlikeable characters let me go ahead and break it down  for you: unlikeable characters in YA (and beyond!) are female characters** that are flawed, usually unrepentantly. They have some seriously bad shortcomings, or sometimes just “unladylike” behaviors, and there is little motivation to change their conduct within the course of the novel. That isn’t to say that they don’t change by the end of the story, only that any sort of redemption and improvement of their character flaws is usually secondary to the overall plot.

Unlikeable characters aren’t perfect and they don’t try to be. They know they have faults and they’re okay with it because they have more important things to deal with.


And that is awesome.


I love “unlikeable” characters. I write “unlikeable” characters (or at least I try). And to be honest, I am an “unlikeable” character. I don’t sit quietly in a group. I won’t back down in an argument. I’m ambitious and arrogant and maybe a little bitchy just because I happen to feel like it. I will always suggest we do something I like and I will always have an opinion. I won’t stay quiet for the benefit of group harmony. If I get irritated I will tell you so and leave.

In other words, I am a real person with all of the complex emotions and feelings that being a humans have. And I’m not the only woman that happens to be that way.

The “unlikeable” character isn’t unlikeable because they aren’t funny or charismatic or, really, likeable. Let’s be honest, there has to be some degree of interest on the part of the reader to want to stick it out with a character for three hundred plus pages. The characters are unlikeable because they don’t conform to an established societal ideal of what it means to be female. Boys are allowed to be loud and disgusting and ambitious. They can disagree and forge ahead and be considered trailblazers and pioneers. They are allowed a full range of feelings and behaviors that women are not.

Women are supposed to be polite, smile, be harmonious. A woman that objects too loudly and too often is a bitch (there is even a verb form of the word meaning to complain). A woman who is ambitious is selfish, a woman that expresses fear is whiny and a woman that is too bold is irritating. A woman that doesn’t conform to some ephemeral ideal of femininity and doesn’t want to change her failings to conform to what is expected of her by society (and by extension, the reader) is a terrible character.

“Unlikeable.”

This double standard even extends to YA, where most rules of grown up books usually don’t apply. A girl that spends an entire book following around the boy she likes is psycho or pathetic. A boy that does the same thing is insightful. And that’s problematic. Is that really what we want to girls to learn, to teach them that their own impulses and thoughts are somehow less valid, less worthy, than a boy’s?

Female characters that are unlikeable are the best characters. They show us that our bad bits, as well as our good bits, are important to who we are. For too long women in literature have either been cardboard cutouts, scenery for the important doings of men, or non-existent. I want to read women who are angry, who are scared, who are ambitious and smug and all of the other things that make women real. Women who argue and speak up, or keep their thoughts to themselves and quietly fume while planning some nasty revenge. I want to read about women that aren’t simply put there as objects of attraction for the male main character or as smart sidekicks to help out the hero. I don’t want women who are there to be saved. I want women who save themselves with or without the help of others.

And I want to read these same characters in YA, where the leap from girlhood to womanhood is messy and fraught with danger and heartbreak and disappointment. I want to read about girls who are bitches and skanks and every other insult that can be hurled at a woman. I want the girls that survive, the ones that break in a million messy ways, the ones who turn their backs on everything they’ve known and forge their own paths, whether for better or worse. I want to read about bad decisions and worse decisions, about pride and arrogance and the drive for more. I want books that teach girls to be true to themselves, even if the person they are is more Disney villain and less Disney princess.

I want girls who are here to tell you their story, not be your friend or feature as a placeholder for reader romance. I want real girls.

“Unlikeable” girls.

So here are three of my favorite “unlikeable” main characters in YA, for your reading pleasure:

Parker Fadley, Cracked Up to Be: You knew I couldn’t make a list of unlikeable characters and not include a book by Courtney Summers. Her books are some of my favorites, and I picked Parker because she is the Summers character that I found to be the most unapologetic about her behavior. Parker knows that she’s being terrible, but she doesn’t care enough to stop. Sure, she has reasons for acting the way she does (but I won’t spoil the book for you) but instead of feeling bad and asking for help she feels bad and takes it out on everyone around her. And that is a completely valid response that many reviews took issue with. Why can’t Parker be nicer? Because she doesn’t have to be.



June Costa, The Summer Prince: June is ambitious and unapologetic. She knows she comes from a life of privilege and that she is spoiled, but it doesn’t stop her from using that privilege to get ahead. A number of reviews reacted negatively to this and a scene in which June is caught masturbating by her love interest, Enki. Rather than feel ashamed, June uses the moment as a sort of challenge to Enki, embracing her sexuality in a way rarely seen by girls in YA.

Micah, Liar: Micah is probably the first truly unlikeable main character that I read in YA. She’s a liar, and we know this because she tells the reader that. For the rest of the book she contradicts herself constantly and makes up facts that the reader will either believe or doubt. Either way, reviews absolutely hated Micah both as a person but also as an unreliable narrator.***

Feel like spending some time with a few more messy characters? Here are a bunch of other books with “unlikeable” main characters you should check out:

The S-Word
This is Not a Test
Some Girls Are
The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau Banks
Uses for Boys
Tithe
Ironside
Since You Asked
Starglass
The Duff
A Midsummer’s Nightmare
Vengeance Bound and Promise of Shadows (you knew I had to mention my books)

Happy reading!

*the definition of unlikeable is, as always, a matter of opinion. For me it refers to female characters that do not conform to prescribed social behaviors of decency for women and in turn draw a considerable amount of reader ire. I have yet to see anyone refer to characters like Bella Swan as unlikeable. Weak, yes, but never unlikeable. 

**The characters deemed “unlikeable” are always female. Always. I have never seen this term thrown about when men are the jerky main characters of the story, but I would love to be proven wrong.

***The fact that female characters of color in YA get slapped with the unlikeable label more often than their white counterparts could probably be its own discussion, but that is a post for another day.

***

Justina Ireland is the author of Vengeance Bound, as well as Promise of Shadows, which published this week. 

The Unlikable Female Protagonist: A Field Guide to Identification in the Wild — Guest Post by Sarah McCarry

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Let’s kick off our series with what will be a very helpful post for those needing a little guidance to work through what many will be talking about over the next couple of weeks. Sarah McCarry is here to offer insight into the unlikable female protagonist.







Sarah McCarry (www.therejectionist.com & @therejectionist) is the author of the novels All Our Pretty Songs and Dirty Wings (summer 2014), and the editor and publisher of Guillotine, a chapbook series dedicated to revolutionary nonfiction.









THE UNLIKABLE FEMALE PROTAGONIST: A FIELD GUIDE TO IDENTIFICATION IN THE WILD

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

Considerable debate has been devoted to the subject of the Unlikable Female Protagonist, a common pest of the natural world. While it is not our intent here to contribute to the extensive literature on her value as an object of study, we hope that by clarifying and outlining her identifying characteristics we may make a valuable and practical addition to the current research being conducted in the field.

HABITAT

The Unlikable Female Protagonist (UFP) is indigenous to a highly diverse spectra of ecosystems, climates, and geographical zones.

RANGE

Global; she may also be found in a variety of uniquely fictive environments, including but not limited to magical kingdoms, future dystopias, re-imagined historical settings, re-told fairytales, Forks, Washington, and a a web of filth, sexual perversions, alcohol, and smoking.

DESCRIPTION

ADULT and JUVENILE specimens of the UFP share a number of common characteristics and behaviors, and it is difficult to distinguish them in their natural habitats. Likewise, isolating the UFP in a group of Likable Female Protagonists may prove an insurmountable task for the casual observer; even researchers with extensive background in the field are frequently stymied when asked to assess physiological and behavioral differences between Likable and Unlikable Female Protagonists. 

Complicating identification further, a Previously Likable Female Protagonist may transition suddenly into a UFP via the application of a traumatic event, such as sexual assault, parental abandonment, death of family member or friend, discovery of previously unknown supernatural power, crushing out on werewolves, puberty, etc. Notably, rather than process her response via culturally acceptable techniques such as quietly journaling alone, attending therapy, dressing nicely, and remaining chipper but not overly perky, the UFP expresses her distress via characteristic behaviors including but not limited to promiscuous sexual activity, drinking alcohol and attending rock concerts, disrespecting her parents, being a bitch, being a whiny, annoying, total bitch, being a conceited bitch, being a heartless bitch, being a shallow, narcissistic bitch, being a hypocritical, coldhearted beeyotch with a stick up her ass, being dirty, attending a diverse high school, being Muslim, living with a disability, being cleverer than Harry Potter, finding a man who is stupid enough to love her, masturbating, being afraid of her emotions, detaching herself from her emotions, and swearing. Yeah she had a bad past, with her absent dad, butthole boyfriend, and an unexpected pregnancy/subsequent abortion, but she is a whiny brat. 

These, of course, are not the sole identifiers of the UFP, and merely existing may serve as trauma enough to effect a transition from Likable to Unlikable. The UFP is also feminist, not feminist enough, is too cheerful, overachieves, has pink hair, and does not criticize her love interest for putting up posters of attractive women on motorcycles. Additionally, the UFP may be precocious, a moron, irresponsible, too glamorous, too fat, too anorexic, too fixated on older men, gay, passive, arrogant, and not feminine enough. She has male friends, is obsessed with sex, is too rich, is too poor, talks too much about racism, and is generally detestable, selfish, and possessed of solely first-world problems. Having cancer is no excuse for her whining, unless she is written by a man. She is overly forgiving, pathetic, a HUGE wussy/complainer, unremarkable, vapid, the kind of girl who feels the need to expose herself to a guy she doesn’t know, overly forceful, and self-righteous. She would give IT up wayyyy too easily. She is, quite simply, an idiot.

While inexperienced researchers may express confusion about the apparently contradictory nature of the UFP’s behaviors, the obvious unifying factor among them is the fact that the UFP is always, as her name suggests, female.

ADDITIONAL NOTES

Female Protagonists may only ever be subdivided into “Likable” and “Unlikable”; for Fully-Developed Human Beings, refer to “Men.”

DISCUSSION AND OBSERVATION TIPS

As noted above, isolating and identifying the UFP in natural environments is a challenging task for the researcher. While she may elect to self-identify by donning goth clothing or applying black eyeliner, it is as likely that she will be visually indistinguishable from her likable counterparts. The UFP is so common, in fact, that naturalists might be better served by devoting their energies to searching out the Likable Female Protagonist instead, a creature so rare and elusive that some researchers suggest she is extinct, or in fact a figment imagined by overly enthusiastic graduate students in the humanities. At any rate, delineating the behaviors of the Likable Female Protagonist, should they be definable, is outside the scope of the present paper.

***

Sarah McCarry’s All Our Pretty Songs is available now and Dirty Wings will be available in July.