Active Protagonists are a Tool of the Patriarchy
By Kelsey Allagood | September 18, 2021 |
I feel like I’m committing a grievous writerly sin by even typing these words, but I must speak my truth:
I would like to see more passive protagonists in fiction.
While the title of this post is tongue-in-cheek, I do think that passive protagonists are unfairly maligned in part because of the unspoken association between passivity and femininity. I’ll get into why I think so a little later, but let’s discuss what “passive protagonist” means first.
The importance of intent
Passive protagonists are the antithesis of what we’re told makes a good story. A good story, says common wisdom, is driven by the choices and desires of the main character. Passive protagonists, on the other hand, do not drive the plot through their choices and actions, but rather have the plot inflicted upon them. Without goals and desires, and without challenges to overcome toward those goals and desires, what are the stakes? Where is the tension?
Such a story can absolutely be boring and frustrating to read.
But common wisdom also tells us that the choices made by an active protagonist must build toward a climax. In her craft book Meander, Spiral, Explode: Design and Pattern in Narrative, Jane Alison argues that the traditional path through fiction in the Western world has been the dramatic arc: the wave that rises to a climax, then falls. There are variations on that wave or triangle pattern, of course, but by and large, storytellers are told that things must build and build until they come to a head, then be resolved in a way that denotes to the reader that the story is complete.
As Alison says, “Bit masculo-sexual, no?”
If written compellingly, passive characters have a lot to teach us. That’s easier said than done, of course. Getting a reader to bother caring about someone who doesn’t seem to want anything is difficult, which is why passive characters are hard to write well. It’s much easier to tell a compelling story about a character striving to get what they want. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Active characters make for great stories. I don’t want to knock active characters, or argue that everyone should only write passive ones. This is more of a plea for more diversity—of all kinds—in fiction. Passive protagonists have as much to teach us as active protagonists, and can make for stories that are just as interesting.
The difference between a “good” passive protagonist and a “bad” one boils down to what causes many writing problems: purpose. Not the character’s purpose. I’m talking about whether the author has written a passive protagonist intentionally or not. As Matthew Salesses says in Craft in the Real World, “Everything is a decision.”
If an author doesn’t recognize that they’re writing a passive protagonist, or if they take no steps to keep the reader’s attention, then yes, you will have a puppet show, not a book. But by intentionally exploring what it means to be passive in a world that is constantly telling us to hustle and grind, we can unearth a lot of juicy material.
Frankly, I want to reclaim the passive protagonist as someone who resists the values we are told we should want in this late-stage capitalist society: success, recognition, money, dominance, control. That we should always be striving for more, better. What happens when we rebel against the idea that characters must be in the driver’s seat?
What makes passive protagonists bad, really?
There are a few reasons why passive protagonists have been categorized as “bad” storytelling. I’ve already mentioned several, such as lower stakes and slowed tension. In a publishing environment where unputdownable plots are frequently (though certainly not always) seen as critical to selling books, that’s already a big strike against the passive protagonist.
But aside from narrative issues, I often see another criticism leveled at passive protagonists: they are perceived as weak. In an article on LitHub, Jessi Jezewska Stevens even says that there’s a “special danger” in writing passive female characters, which risks playing into misogynistic stereotypes of women as the weaker sex. As feminists, we of course want to portray women as strong, as equals, as powerful forces in their own right. And to do that, we must cast off the traditionally feminine trait of passivity.
Passive protagonists, we’re told, don’t want anything. Wanting things makes for a good story. Ergo, passive protagonists make for bad stories. But here’s a thought experiment:
A passive protagonist doesn’t have everything they could possibly want. But they might think they do. Perhaps they think so because they’ve fully bought into a certain idea of what success looks like, and they’ve achieved it.
Or it’s because they never learned how to even recognize what they wanted.
Or because they think that they don’t deserve to get what they want, so they don’t bother wanting anything.
Or because they were taught at a young age that the needs of others must come first.
And—wait for it—who is often told they must put their needs behind others? Who has been more traditionally associated with caregiving roles? Who is expected to quit their careers when a global pandemic exposes the shameful lack of affordable childcare?
You guessed it: the woman.
Strong female characters, we are told, are active. They drive the plot. They know what they want, and they go for it, damn the consequences. Think of Sigourney Weaver’s Ripley in Alien, or Margaery Tyrell in Game of Thrones, or Princess General Leia Freaking Organa of the Star Wars franchise (RIP Carrie Fisher), to name a few famous examples.
Contrast those with alleged “weak characters” like the beloved but unambitious, sickly Beth March from Little Women. Or Cindy Heller from Blue Valentine, who sacrifices her dreams of being a doctor to support her good-for-nothing husband as a nurse (never mind the whole issue with treating nursing like it’s a demotion from physician, but you know, it’s a traditionally female career, so…).
Even today, female desire and appetite is a staple of the horror genre.
I’m oversimplifying quite a bit here, but I think it’s always worthwhile to question what’s widely considered good writing, and to ask who benefits from these “rules.”
Why care about a passive protagonist?
Since writing about being a conflict-avoidant writer earlier this year, I’ve been thinking about the kind of people in real life who are encouraged to be passive. To not have goals. To make sacrifices. And I thought about how the unspoken expectations of my upbringing have affected the way I write. In that post about conflict avoidance, I wrote about how I was raised in a culture where women bear the responsibility for managing the emotions of men, and how I unknowingly transferred that same desire to smooth things over into my writing.
Part of that upbringing meant that I was socially rewarded for being passive: for not having preferences, for not expressing opinions (this makes it sound like I was raised to be one of Margaret Atwood’s handmaids, which I assure you was not the case, and that I did have many strong, opinionated women in my life who encouraged me to be confident). But the point still stands that women who lead or speak up for themselves are often labeled as “bossy” or “shrill,” and women who are more passive are called “easy to get along with.” And that’s doubly so for Black and Brown women.
Passive people—certainly not just women—deserve to have their stories told without being dismissed as “weak” or “uninteresting.” What does it say about us as a society that we deem someone who is not a driving force in their life as unworthy of our attention? I say let’s talk more about those of us who aren’t always in the driver’s seat.
So screw the patriarchy: write passive characters.
Do you have any favorite passive characters? Would you consider reading a story in which the protagonist doesn’t drive the plot?
[coffee]
Kelsey Allagood (she/her) is a writer, occasional photographer, and trained political analyst specializing in the causes of war and systemic oppression. This background led her to begin writing fantasy fiction steeped in the anthropology of conflict.
Her writing can be found in literary magazines such as Barrelhouse, GRIFFEL, Menacing Hedge, and Wanderlust. Her photography has been featured in RESURRECTION mag. She has also written on peaceful resistance movements, art as a form of political resistance, and countering violent extremist ideology.
Kelsey has a Bachelor’s Degree in international and cultural studies from the University of Tampa and a Master’s Degree in conflict resolution from Georgetown University.
She lives in Maryland with her husband, mother, and a rescue dog named Henry.
Thank you for addressing the passive protag problem. Last year I wrote a story (& this year rewriting) about a woman who lost her only sib the same day she finished a lengthy meditation retreat The protag discovers her sis had just won the lottery & bought a lux villa, which the protag visits & finds a murder, then encounters more. During a Gotham course this spring, I realized I had written a passive protag who is hit with life’s slings & arrows. A couple of other students disparaged this. I hope I have provided enough background & motivation to balance the passivity, but it’s hard to tell from the writer’s seat.
Charlotte, your story sounds interesting! It can be really hard to strike the right balance between motivation and passivity from the driver’s seat, so to speak: you know why your character acts the way she does, but it may not always come across to readers. For example, I struggle with my characters often having internal (emotional) reasons for acting (or not), which is much harder to convey than reasons that are external to the character. Another reason why passive protagonists are tricky!
Thank you for this. My own easygoing, conflict-avoidant, mostly (what a dreaded word these days) pleasant childhood shaped me in ways that I still don’t fully understand. There’s a lot to unpack here, but for now all I can think of are the many times that the lesson in both pop culture (from noir to true crime podcasts) and great literature (looking at you Anna) is that women who want too much will meet a bad end. Somehow hasn’t stopped me from wanting to be published.
Regina, this is so true. I’m reminded of the much-maligned horror movie trope of “Death by Sex,” in which one of the first characters to die was the girl who had sex. I mean, you could even make an argument for the same lesson going back to the story of the Garden of Eden, but that was too much for me to manage in this post =) Thanks for reading!
Can you give examples of books/stories with a passive protagonist that you feel work well? I’d like to explore more.
I can: the Wizard of Oz. Although Dorothy definitely wants something (to go home), she puts no real thought into how to get there. Other people tell her where to go and whom to talk to, and other people solve the problems she encounters along the way. She does kill two witches, but both killings are accidents. Things happen and she reacts to those things and has thoughts and feelings about those things, but she doesn’t make any of those things happen. And the book is one of the most popular there have ever been.
Great example, Caroline!
Agreed, well said Caroline!
“The Guest” by Albert Camus. It works very well.
Janee, thanks for this question. Jessi Jezewska Stevens argues that Candide, Bartleby the Scrivener, and the narrator of Rebecca are passive protagonists. She also points out the great literary tradition of lovable, passive characters who stumble into situations, but don’t drive the plot, like Dorothy, Candide, and the protagonists of Kafka’s Amerika and Amos Tutuola’s The Palm Wine Drinkard. I’d say that Kathy, one of the main characters in Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go, is a passive protagonist that works well. Same with Arthur from Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. And it’s been a long time since I read it and my memory is iffy, but I’d say perhaps Marie-Laure from Anthony Doerr’s All the Light We Cannot See? Marie-Laure does want things and make choices, but she doesn’t drive the plot. All of these are certainly arguable, but these are a few that come to mind.
Alice, as in Alice in Wonderland?
Keeping in mind that the hero(ine) is not always the protagonist, and the narrator is often a bit-player, my mind goes to Sherlock Holmes, Frodo Baggins, Yossarian, Ishmael, Sam Spade, Kinsey Millhone, Huckleberry Finn, and The Dude (in The Big Lebowski).
All these are good stories in which the plot is not driven by the main character, who in some cases is almost militantly passive. Many stories about cops and soldiers would apply also.
“What does it say about us as a society that we deem someone who is not a driving force in their life as unworthy of our attention? I say let’s talk more about those of us who aren’t always in the driver’s seat.
So screw the patriarchy: write passive characters.”
YES! Many of us, men and women, are usually passive players in the social currents of our times. We go with the flow. As I read your post, I thought, “Gee, ordinary SOLDIERS are really passive people, sent out by someone else to go to a job, (the boots on the ground) that puts them in peril. Could you get more passive!”
I see no reason why a story of such a person just living in society can’t be compelling, not that they drop out of society, but that they carve out for themselves a life they feel is worth living. Considering the gigantic forces of our time, there is plenty of conflict and dynamics for a story.
Lynn, what an interesting example! Not to get all military theory, but soldiers would be an example of passivity being a strength, no? Part of what makes soldiers effective is working as one unit/following orders. Interspersed with, in some cases, making massively important decisions that really do affect the way things turn out. And as you said, most of us are just trying to make it against the overwhelming forces of today–climate change, income inequality, student debt, etc. etc.–and I’d love to read more works that address that powerlessness. I’m sure many already exist, but I want more =)
Thank you for your thoughtful comment!
Hey Kelsey – Terrifically thought-provoking, as usual. Have you read any Joe Abercrombie, by chance? He springs to mind primarily because I happen to be reading his newest release, but also because of how he handles his characters “wants,” and how those wants propel the plot.
I hesitate to mention him because he sort of presents himself as this “dude-bro” fantasist—his Twitter handle is @LordGrimdark, after all. While I’m not necessarily a fan of grimdark, and I particularly dislike “all-action-all-the-time” fantasy, I’ve always found Abercrombie engaging. I’ve heard fans talk about his lack of plot, but today you’ve made me realize that what some see as a lack of plot is really more a lack of reward for striving. Indeed, his characters are almost inevitably punished for any materialistic or grandiose desire. And his Gandalf-esqe wizard—the wise mentor who serves as the voice to several characters’ “call to the journey”? He’s a narcissistic uber-capitalist, not to mention a callous villain.
Sort of puts the whole western “active heroes should strive and win” thing on its head in a really interesting and, dare I say?, fun-to-read way. Thanks, as always, for getting me thinking—this time even about my current read. Can’t wait to read your fiction. Happy Saturday!
Hey Vaughn! Thanks so much for your thoughtful and kind comment, as always. I’m familiar with Joe Abercrombie from the Twitterverse and his books have been on my TBR list, but I haven’t yet gotten to them. Might have to move them up after this comment, though! I have to say that a Gandalf-esque wizard that’s also a narcissistic uber-capitalist is…possibly the best way to get me to read a book? I find it so interesting when writers choose to punish their characters for having big goals. Reminds me of an anime, of all things, that I recently watched and loved.
Thanks again for reading, and for the book suggestions!
If you apply what you say to the work of Jane Austen and Virginia Woolf, what do you conclude?
But I have grown impatient with the aggressive action required of so many female protagonists, especially in films. To me, it’s ridiculous to see so much serious analysis and praise heaped on violent heroines. The characters simply ape male action figures, which reinforces the idea that it truly is a man’s world. It’s an unimaginative way to show how women are equal to men.
One correction is to reject the emphasis on a single figure dominating the story. A main character is needed, but she/he needn’t be the whole show. In my suspense series, I don’t use first-person narration, and I do use multiple point-of-view characters. This approach de-centralizes the action. It frees my woman protagonist to think and be herself, not another himself.
Barry, this is such a great question! Both Jane Austen and Virginia Woolf were writing prior to the era of the active protagonist, but many of their female protagonists are limited by the norms of the societies in which they live. There isn’t much that Lizzy Bennett, for example, can actually do to affect the plot of P&P, but I don’t think anyone would call her a weak or passive person. So while Lizzy may arguably be a passive protagonist, she is still a strong, opinionated character with clear goals, even if she’s limited in what she can do to reach those goals.
Now that I’m thinking about Austen, the women who *do* take control of their lives in her books–usually through elopement–are pretty much universally viewed in a negative light.
I feel like someone smarter than me could (and should) write a thesis on passivity versus action in Virginia Woolf’s work. =) I’m thinking particularly of Orlando, and how the protagonist’s metamorphosis isn’t a personal choice, yet Orlando exults at having become a woman, in contrast to how readers might think she’d react. Ooh, there’s so much good stuff to explore there.
Thank you so much for posing this question!
“To me, it’s ridiculous to see so much serious analysis and praise heaped on violent heroines. The characters simply ape male action figures, which reinforces the idea that it truly is a man’s world. It’s an unimaginative way to show how women are equal to men.”
I’ve often thought this. Thank you for saying it.
In my opinion, “strength” in a character is not a synonym for physical prowess. Strong characters come in many forms.
Awesome post! Thank you. Needs to be explored deeply, I think. Perhaps one key is the belief that internal process must be externalized for a story to be compelling. This values externalization over the internal process that gives it birth.
Why is internal process considered inadequately compelling for a story? I believe this is the product of adrenaline addiction, which seems to me to be the antithesis of looking deeply within.
There’s more to this issue than that, of course, but this is my two cents at the moment. I love questioning such a basice writing premise that “everyone knows is true” — the earth is the center of the solar system. Everyone sees the proof every day!
Thank you, Lloyd! I think you’re spot on. I tend to write characters like myself, who are self-reflective but not too active, and I sometimes struggle to follow the advice–which I think is generally good advice–that my characters’ internal challenges should be reflected in the action of the story. I think the challenge with writing heavily internalized processes is similar to passive characters: unless one is a particularly skilled writer, it’s hard to get readers to care about a character who does nothing in a story except have thoughts. But as you said, it’s worthwhile to question these assumptions, and it’s worthwhile to explore how even us mortal writers might use the tools of our craft to make readers care about our characters’ internal lives. Thanks for a great comment!
There’s an interesting balance point where an apparently passive character is actually active – often they may be trying to protect something from change. I write romance, where both heroine and hero are “supposed” to have active goals that bring them into conflict. But in my current WIP, my heroine has no goal, except to keep her life as it is, stable and balanced. She appears passive, staying in her small-town, giving up chances for success and even love. But that apparent passivity is an actively self-protective thing – she has finally, after a lot of work, stabilised her bipolar and knows what it’s like to truly lose control of her life.
I’ve thought about this for a while, and I’ve tried, but I just don’t think I can accept the premise. The problem with a passive protagonist is that the story simply happens TO them, removing any causality (except, perhaps, for the possibility that it was the protag’s very lack of action or desire that resulted in them not stopping the story from happening to them).
I also tried to come up with any passive protagonists I found compelling, and again came up short. One could argue that Nick Carraway is pretty passive in “The Great Gatsby,” but then one could also ask: Is Nick truly the protagonist, or simply the narrator? I gave up on Marisha Pessls’ “Special Topics in Calamity Physics” precisely because the protagonist wasn’t doing anything, and the supporting cast was made up of characters far more interesting and active than her. It was a hard decision, since her writing was so smart and witty, but I realized a third of the way into the book that I absolutely did not care about the main character.
I think your argument would be stronger if you provided examples from literature, as there are likely ones I’m not thinking of, or simply haven’t been exposed to. The closest I could come up with were protagonists who started out passive, but were ultimately forced to act, such as Macon Leary in “The Accidental Tourist.” But even Macon had a highly distinctive set of quirks, which reflected decisions and choices he had consciously made, and over time we were made to realize where some of those quirks originated, all of which made for an utterly compelling story that remains one of my favorite books ever.
That said, your patriarchal reference did strike a nerve, particularly the “masculo-sexual” reference, which definitely is on-target. And I will also allow for the very real effects of conditioning: we’ve been told SO many times that the protag must be active, that a story must follow an arc, that perhaps what we dismiss as uncompelling is simply unconventional. Must we accept this, simply because “they” told us so? That’s definitely a valid question to raise.
But on further examination, I realized that my desire for an active protagonist also reflects what I look for from people in real life, whether it’s a friend or a romantic partner. Case in point: For years I was involved in an on-again, off-again relationship with a woman who was smart, funny, stunningly attractive, and with whom I had an undeniable chemistry. But ultimately I realized there was nothing she stood for, nothing she was striving to become, no cause or principle that defined her, and I realized that a core component of what I sought in a partner – or even a friend – was simply not there. The relationship ended shortly after that realization. Another case in point: Over the past five or so years, I’ve seen numerous American acquaintances totally step back from taking any stand or showing any reaction to what’s going on in the socio-political landscape. As I did with Marisha Pessl, I’ve sadly closed the book on many of them, since I just can’t connect with people who are unmoved or unwilling to react to what’s going on.
Believe it or not, I *am* conflict averse by nature, so I get the tendency to be passive – I really do. But I won’t defend it, and I certainly won’t celebrate it nor seek it out in other people – whether real or fictional. YMMV.
Love your comment, Keith. Fascinating discussion, it’s late but I just wanted to say WOW, The Accidental Tourist. What a great novel and Macon Leary. I must reread Tyler. Thanks.
Hi Kelsey,
Thank you for your insights. It was very timely! Literally, last night I was so frustrated with my WIP that I declared myself a hobby novelist. I’ve written about 6 unpublished novels and part my problem (among many other things) is that my characters are like me – passive types who feel deeply and are sometimes just trying to get through the day. My current protagonist reflects some of what you pointed out – she’s searching for her purpose and part of the reason she doesn’t know what she wants is that she’s been so focused on the care of her younger sister who has a debilitating illness that she’s put her own needs/desires aside.
I appreciate your insights that have given name to some of what I’ve been dealing with. And I’m not going to give up just yet!
Your mention of “characters just trying to get through the day” made me think of Dante in Clerks. That’s a protagonist that stuff just happens to. “I’m not even supposed to be here today!”
Thank you, Kelsey! I am right with you on this. In my novel, Better Late Than Never, I tried to explore a hero that some would consider passive. Passive might just be an active way of balance and acceptance of what life gives you. I do feel that the whole hero arc is so Western masculine mindset. I believe life is not a battle, it’s about finding harmony and beauty, no matter what conditions. It is a cultural thing, for sure. Assumptions about what success means are also built into these common arcs. I’m here to disrupt that. So glad to see you are too.
I’ve always been a fan of beta heroes, men who prefer a quiet life but rise to the occasion with action (even violence) because they must. One of my favorite authors growing up was Mary Stewart, many of whose heroes fill that bill nicely — and most of whose heroines are likewise “ordinary” women who are pulled (or thrown) out of their ordinary lives by circumstance and find themselves compelled to do things they would never have considered doing otherwise. As a writer of historicals set in the Regency era, when “feisty” women were very much frowned on, I’ve written fairly passive heroines (which comes more naturally to me anyway) AND beta heroes… and found strength in all of them. Probably some readers find my work tedious, but thankfully they’re not the ones writing reviews. Thanks for this article!
Kelsey, I really enjoyed Meander, Spiral, Explode and especially appreciated that there’s more ways to tell a story than the classic arc. There is a great beauty in discovering characters with a hidden strength, of fighting evil not with evil, but with good. Children’s stories are often filled with characters who don’t have agency but by their very limitations, they show creative ways of fighting back. They disarm. Our culture doesn’t always recognize humble people but I think of my mother, ordinary to those who didn’t know her, confusing meek with weak, but I saw her quiet and hidden strength, in persevering despite all the odds, who led an extraordinary life through her humility and charity. She makes cameo appearances in many of my stories. Perhaps one day she’ll be the star. Thank you for a lovely essay honoring “passive” characters.
Bravo! I love “rule breakers.” Writers who know the rules, but break them anyway. I’m tired, frankly, of rules like show don’t tell, watch your word count, and don’t write passive characters. It’s way past time for writers to stop holding editors, literary agents, and experts who publish their “rules” on staging-staging-writerunboxed.kinsta.cloud as the GODS of writing.
Just be sure you know the rules inside and out before you break them.
I write mainstream fiction.
One of my three main characters is chronically ill – her principles and her limited actions and her self-discipline drive the plot – dam the river.
Life happens to her – but she chooses how to react – and shapes the meander.
Nothing namby pamby about Kary – and what it costs her.
Thought-provoking post, Kelsey. As you point out, even so-called passive protagonists are actively making choices. The challenge is to make them compelling as characters. The danger is that readers will find them more pathetic than sympathetic. Think Gregor Samsa in the Metamorphosis. Of current literature, I think Clare Luchette’s Agnes of Little Neon might be an example of the type of protagonist you’re describing. Nuns are the last people society would call “activist” (along with children and the dying), yet these sisters are active in the situations they accept as their lot.
Depends on the nun. Some nuns are literally activists, e.g. the 90-year-old nun who got arrested protesting the Trump administration’s detention of migrant children. They don’t so much accept their lot (they did decide to become nuns, after all) as refuse to accept the lots thrust on others.
Which brings me to another thought: is the strength of a passive protagonist less in what they do, and more in what they won’t do? The point at which, like Fanny Price, they politely yet firmly refuse to move in the way the active characters wish them to.
After all, a rock in the stream doesn’t do anything (and presumably doesn’t want anything). But it still affects the flow of the stream, precisely because it doesn’t do anything.
Perhaps sometimes passivity is not, as we generally think, being acted upon (as opposed to acting upon others), but rather refusing to be acted upon.
I feel like the odd one out here, based on the comments. I think there are a few different concepts getting mixed together in this post. There’s a difference between a passive character (who wants nothing and therefore has no story motivation) and a passive personality or quiet lifestyle. If a character is shunning the rat race, then she wants a more simple or balanced life. That’s not the same as wanting nothing. Pit her against other characters who don’t see the value in the things she wants and you have both story conflict and character motivation. If she quits a high powered job so she can stay home with her kids, I would argue that she’s taken significant action in her own story. The fact that some people would view her life choices as passive is another issue.
I think you nailed it when you said a passive character (who takes no external action but is merely acted upon) is difficult to do well. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be done well. The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo is a shining example of a superb story with a passive character who can take no action. I recommend it to writers all the time as a good one to study. Ultimately, Edward does want something and does take action. It’s all internal, but still a powerful story.
I agree that there is more than one valid story structure and that patriarchy still sometimes influences society and the types of characters it elevates, but there is no lack of passive characters to be found. For decades, the literary world has been littered with stories that lack plot and are weighed down by passive characters who are just floating along in a sea of beautiful but pointless prose. A lot of people like those kinds of stories but they drive me crazy. I enjoy quiet stories but do expect them to have some sort of plot and satisfying ending. I realize this is all subjective. :)
A commenter above mentioned the she-males we tend to see in action stories, and I’m tired of them too. I suppose they fit the genre they’re in but I’m grateful that they’re not the only types of female characters out there.
Thanks for the thought-provoking post!
Thank you so much for this post – like your post on conflict avoidance a while back, this really spoke to me and articulated something I’ve been grappling with. Thanks for giving pointers towards how we can write passive characters better. I have also gotten tired of the constant exhortations to write active, brave, grab-em-by-the-short-and-curlies characters. I mean, yes, that’s fun to write and read, but we lose diversity and lose the chance to faithfully observe and inhabit the lives of less dominant characters.
I think “The Guest” by Albert Camus is about a passive protagonist. The main character has a situation forced upon him and wants nothing to do with it, and he tells another character (a prisoner) to make his own choice.
The central character in Amor Towles’ wonderful novel A Gentleman in Moscow fits this mould beautifully. His political views and aristocratic background see him in indefinite home detention under the newly established Soviet regime in Russia. He happens to live in a luxury hotel in the centre of Moscow. The story has a very long time frame and a very tight setting, and is a study of one man’s character and how his small interactions with others affect them – through these and his memories we see the world outside his physical confines and his remarkable humanism. It’s absolutely brilliant. I speak as a reader/writer who likes passive characters to find their inner strength and courage in one way or another.
Thank you, Kelsey. This came at the right time for me. My novel has been stalled for a long time, because I can’t see how to give my character agency given his young age and the life shattering events he has just lived through.
Imagine if your protagonist was a small Afghan child just airlifted out of Kabul (mine isn’t, actually) trying to give her agency. A potentially gripping and powerful story never told because of “the rules”.
After reading your post I see a way forward to write my character, in that he simply refuses to accept the values and life pathway set out for him by his school and parents after what has happened. It’s not passivity. He really has to dig his heels in without even trying to articulate why.
Later he will be active, when he’s found a different and very unconventional life to pursue, but not at the point where I’ve been stuck.
All the advice on character arcs and protagonists driving the story is very sound and useful, but sometime, for some stories, it needs to be rethought.
So glad I found your essay, and I just wanted to say 1 to everything you said. I was even going to say that “passive” may be subjective, in that the MC may not *think* she wants anything, and we learn otherwise shortly before (or after) she does. But then you said that as well.
I’m writing a novel now where the MC is definitely of the reluctant variety. But she eventually finds herself in a place that couldn’t have happened but for a snowballing of her inclinations, desires, and decisions. They sneak in! By the end she may certainly want for less, but only because she’s a different person. (I write sci-fi, so this may be literal. ;) )
I love this. Thank you for it!
I am so glad to hear this spoken! I wrote a fantasy romance to explore just these themes! I wanted to show that wanting traditionally feminine things (family, security, a stable home) is not inherently bad. It’s a story about learning self-respect, and self-acceptance, and decoupling society’s expectations from what would make us happy. My passive protagonist is shy and anxious and the traditional “support” type character, but that doesn’t mean she’s not allowed to want to be happy or to be the protagonist in her own life <3
I love this post!! And the comments are insightful. So many protagonists of “epic journeys” from Odysseus to Dorothy Gale are not the drivers of their stories. And in a way, no mystery sleuth is. Everybody’s a critic. After all, Plato called Oedipus “a puppet of the gods” with no agency in his story. (But hey, the Oedipus story still has legs.) I think people need more than one kind of story. And I for one am sooo tired of the “kick-ass heroine” who acts just like a macho man.
I find your article interesting, but I can’t avoid the impression that writers simply give too much consideration to clichés: active protagonists carry the plot, passive ones are weak and feminine; and they (the passive ones) make women look weak, and we don’t want that etc. I understand the marketing factors and the contemporary sensibilities underlying all this, but what is left of the storytelling when we approach it like that? Consider:
The protagonist of an incomparably rich and complex novel, Thomas Mann’s “Magic Mountain,” is a passive character. The amiable and simple engineer, Hans Castorp, is a man, for one thing, and although not a particularly manly man he is not effeminate either. But he is a slacker: the novel mostly just happens to him, and he does not go around wanting things in order to drive the plot. In the seven years’ span of the narrative, he meets some interesting people, does some observing and thinking, loses a cousin to disease, and has one (very discreet) fling. One active initiative of his is to undertake skiing, whereby he gets lost in a snowstorm and nearly comes to an untimely end. The author insinuates at the end of the story that Hans perishes, anonymously and insignificantly, in the trenches of the Great War.
And yet Hans Castorp is essential: he holds the story together and makes it a masterpiece. An active protagonist would have likely made “Magic Mountain” into a humdrum screed about overcoming obstacles and triumphing over adversity. It is its passive protagonist that makes it into a magical, ambivalent, artful depiction of the pre-WW1 Europe.
So screw cultural expectations: write stories that call to you to be written.
There’s a thread tugging at me here from my history undergrad days and the disdain that was heaped on feminists working on “social” history i.e. women’s journals etc. as primary history sources that were as important as the Magna Carta for us to understand what happened in the xxxx’s …
Social history was not seen as history, or as interesting history, because it was a story that involved only “ordinary” people and was not, therefore, worthy of study.
Would Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day count as having a passive protagonist? The butler narrates events from past and present, and we get a picture of how biases can affect how we recall memories. In fact, I’d say the whole narrative is about how memory is fallible, that Stevens’ perspective is skewed to paint the past in a better light.
But none of what he does moves the plot forward in the traditional sense.
I’ve loved this essay and the comments. It has certainly opened my eyes to Hans Castorp in The Magic Mountain. I did a dissertation on Thomas Mann.Most of his characters are acted upon by their time, as in Death in Venice, preview of the 2nd World War.The force of the historical moment to come affects so many of his characters. Thanks for all the comments. I felt that it had to do with the artistic process overmastering Gustav Aschenbach, for example, who writes one exquisite piece before he dies.
What you are writing about is called a plot driven narrative, which in most cases is overly done. Some of your points are a bit confusing as every character needs to have a want – something they personally want but don’t need for survival or to resolve the plot, and a need – something they need to resolve to reach their goal. If your writing this to stop that trend, then your article is contradictory. I don’t think theirs ever been a story without that, I wouldn’t even know how that would work. I think the best narratives are character driven narratives like The Joker. We follow the character’s life without a spontaneous inciting incident that forces them to progress through the story. That spontaneous incident is what I find cliche and what it sounds like your promoting. The joker was driven by his wants and needs and that’s what moved the story forward and engaged the audience. Also movies like Memento and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Those stories are typically shorts because it’s the most challenging story to write and engage readers for a long period of time with.
I am reminded here of The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath.
I feel proactive protagonist is more popular because it is easier to write, male or female.
When the character has purpose and desire, it is easy to plot, raise obstacles, and generally follow the traditional story arc.
With passive protagonist, one must make the plot, the world, and circumstances of the protagonist compelling enough to keep the reader engaged.
That is a lot harder.
After having read your post, I realise that I tend to gravitate towards passive protagonist, both when writing, as well as reading so I may be biased here.
Marcy Dermansky has written her novel The Red Car with a passive narrator/protagonist, Leah. We learn what Leah is thinking, her logic when vacillating about her feelings or what to do next. I found it rich and fascinating. I was rooting for Leah, she needed a push. I was engaged when turning each page. We don’t know where the slightly passive Leah will end up. The book is a compelling serio-comic mystery without the usual mystery genre characteristics.
(Thank you! Also check out Ariel Gore’s WE WERE WITCHES for all kinds of permission about feminist story structure.)