068: What Makes An Anti-Hero?
And why are we so obsessed with them?
Hey cuties,
Well, we’ve arrived: The final installment in our heroes series! We’ve covered Classic Heroes, Everyman Heroes, and Tragic Heroes. I’ve left the—well, not the best for last, but certainly my favorite for last. I love talking about anti-heroes so much that, once upon a time, I almost applied to do a Ph.D. that traced the increase of anti-heroes in fiction as a response to an increasingly interconnected world that easily aired the dirty laundry of real-world “heroes.” I decided not to, but sometimes I still think it would be a fascinating study. Feel free to steal that idea.
Anyway, anti-heroes. Here we go.
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In some ways, I think the anti-hero is the hardest hero to define because the definition really exists in its opposition to the other heroes (and villains). That means it shifts across time as what we like about heroes (and hate about villains) shifts. What previous cultures found acceptable or pitiful, we find annoying or even abhorrent. Take a look at Oedipus! He has long been classified as a tragic hero, but I think if Oedipus Rex was written today we’d hate this guy.
So, that said, what is an anti-hero right now? Well, this is what that Ph.D. I mentioned at the top was going to cover. Our standards have changed—we expect people to have flaws, so even our classic heroes have bad qualities, which used to be less true in literature. Archetypes used to be more rigid.
Anti-heroes often glitter in the dark.
Anti-heroes, in the loosest sense, do bad things but usually end up on the hero’s side of the story. To dig a tiny bit deeper, I would say that anti-heroes tend to embody one or more traits that run counter to what a given society most prizes, but they can be convinced to do the right thing. It might take some cajoling, and they might do it reluctantly, but when push comes to shove, an anti-hero is not going to support a villain at the climax of the story. In the absence of a true villain though, or if they can’t see the villain for what they are, anti-heroes might choose not to help the hero.
The traits your anti-hero embodies depend on what is highly valued in a given society. in time periods when honor was more heavily prized, we see anti-heroes behaving dishonorably (perhaps stealing or skipping out on military duty) before ultimately doing the right thing. A lot of historical fiction, especially historical military fiction, relies on this. In historical fiction, anti-hero soldiers might steal gold or abandon their post, but they will never hurt a child, for instance. Meanwhile, the classic heroes may never abandon their post, and they might not get the girl, but they alone retain their honor at the end of the story. The season one finale of The Musketeers is a perfect example of this!
Aramis: So, at the end of it all, what do we have? …No glory.
Porthos: No money.
D’Artagnan: No love.
Aramis: None of the things that make life bearable.
Athos: We have honor.
Porthos: Hmm.
Aramis: I can live with that.
D’Artagnan: For honor then!
Porthos: Still… a little money would be nice.
(I know this show is ten years old and based on The Three Musketeers, but I have not watched season 3 yet, please do not spoil it for me!)
Today we don’t prize honor as much as we prize love or success, so characters acting dishonorably isn’t as big of a deal. Modern anti-heroes then step out on their spouses or cheat their way to the top and we find ways to forgive them for that because they did it in pursuit of love or success.
Some consider the modern classic to be Severus Snape in Harry Potter. He is a jackass who once sided with a Hitler-esque figure (Voldy) and only came to the right side out of guilt that the woman he loved was going to die. He then spends the rest of his life being a bitter man who is cruel to almost everyone but is ultimately loyal to the good guys. He dies a hero, but that doesn’t erase how awful he often was in life.
On the complete other end of the anti-hero spectrum is Han Solo, from Star Wars. He starts out as a sarcastic smuggler, only really out for fast money and faster ships. At first, he only helps Leia because she’s beautiful. It takes a while for him to see the Rebels’ cause as worthy, and even then he’s never really all in. Over and over again we’re told that Han thinks it’s dumb to risk his life in a war they’ll probably lose, but he does it for lust love.
The thing is, in US culture we highly prize individuality, wealth, and the Robin Hood-esque figure that steals from the rich, so a lot of people forget that Han’s selfish tendencies are meant to be flaws. It helps of course that he’s dashing and charming and has a heart of gold; we’ll forgive a lot if it’s masked by a good smile. But Han’s personality is so revered that US culture has remade him into a classic hero. Strictly speaking, he’s not though.
Perhaps the least questionable example is Loki, especially the modern MCU take on him that we get in his own show. Loki is a trickster god, and his tricks are sometimes amusing pranks and sometimes they screw with the fabric of reality. You never know what you’re going to get when Loki enters the picture, and that unpredictability is part of what makes him an anti-hero. That combined with his tendency to lie, sleep around, and duck his responsibilities make him… well, not hateable but frustrating, especially if you’re Thor. But at the end of the day, Loki is usually on Thor’s side. He might drag his feet and whine and try to get out of responsibility, but he doesn’t always abandon the good guys when they need him. This is really classic anti-hero behavior.
And I could go on. Jack Sparrow is an anti-hero, Bonnie and Clyde, even Robin Hood… I mean, the Wikipedia list of fictional anti-heroes has over 500 characters listed, and it only goes back to Shakespeare. But part of what makes me so interested in talking about anti-heroes is our love for them. We love anti-heroes so much, and I am so fascinated by the psychological implications of why.
Through their stories, anti-heroes allow us to explore bad (or “bad”) choices, things that we would never do. Anti-heroes steal and lie and cheat; they rob casinos and they shoot bad guys and they kiss the hottie they just met. Just like rollercoasters give us a safe outlet to explore physical danger, watching anti-heroes gives us a way to interact with people who in real life we might shy away from. Think about it—it would be fun to be friends with Loki, but would you be excited about your child dating him?
Given our subject, I am legally obligated to include this song. I’m sorry, I don’t make the rules.
I think this is an especially potent question because anti-heroes are often portrayed as dangerously attractive. Where classic heroes are clean-cut with sweet smiles, anti-heroes often glitter in the dark. They are the perfect avatar for people with “But I can fix him” complexes because, well, in many stories anti-heroes do get “fixed.” They mend their ways and do the right thing and end the story celebrating with the hero, but there’s always a hint that their transformation was temporary. Han Solo goes back to smuggling.
Psychologist Carl Jung wrote about our shadow sides—the impulses of the id that we learn to suppress in order to exist within polite society because they’re considered “unacceptable.” What exactly those impulses are varies within each society and even within subcultures. It might be theft or sex or violence. Even when we know we shouldn’t, sometimes we want those things anyway. We each struggle with this to varying degrees every day. So watching anti-heroes seize those opportunities, follow those impulses? We can’t help but cheer, even if we know we’re not going to go home and follow in their footsteps.
I mean, just look at us cheering for the orcas sinking ships in the waters off Gibraltar. None of us are going to go out and sink a yacht, but we’re also not rushing to stop them. Orcas are this month’s ultimate anti-heroes. And maybe it was always in the name—killer whale? Combining the name of the most peaceful creature on earth with the most violent crime known to man? Come on. That is anti-hero nirvana.
Anti-heroes give us a safe way to be bad, with the reassurance that we can always be redeemed. Unlike every other hero, anti-heroes get to live the full gamut of the human experience, even the dirty parts. While classic heroes are trapped in their ivory towers, anti-heroes get to muck around in the messiness of humanity and still get invited back. That’s part of why we love them.
This can lead people down a dangerous path though. Once you start excusing bad behavior, it becomes easier to excuse worse and worse behavior. We see this a lot in true crime communities when some people’s interest in the crime starts to verge into admiration for the criminal. This is how people in real life end up in cycles of abuse. They think they’re dating Jack Sparrow but they’re actually dating Johnny Depp. They think he can be “tamed” with love, but he just destroys everyone around him. I even hesitated to use Severus Snape as an example because his treatment of his students is pretty bad, especially Neville Longbottom. Rowling let Snape be too bad to ever be fully redeemed—in a line between anti-hero and villain, he’s got more than one foot on the bad side. But we excuse a lot for love and heartbreak so Snape gets by; I’d be interested to see if that excuse holds up in fifty years.
Further, I’d suggest that everyone give a lot of thought to the characters in “prestige” TV—The Sopranos, Mad Men, Game of Thrones, Succession. Sometimes these characters are downright evil but their world is portrayed as so amoral that they still look like heroes. These characters are anti-heroes in the most literal sense of the term: They are the protagonists of their shows, but they’re the opposite of our classic heroes, the anti hero in the sense of ‘anti-’ meaning ‘opposite of’. And sometimes they neither come back to the good side nor get their comeuppance.
This is one way the term has become complicated in recent years. This happened in books too, for the record—Lolita is the classic example. It’s told from the point of view of a rapist and child abuser, but because it’s told from his point of view he is the protagonist and the reader is implicated in his crimes. Humbert Humbert is the protagonist, but he’s a monster. He’s an anti-hero in the most literal sense, but we don’t (or shouldn’t) cheer for him.
I think we need a new term, to be honest. The gulf of difference between Humbert Humbert and Han Solo is too great, yet today we’d file them under the same archetype title. I don’t think it makes sense any longer.
If it were up to me, today I’d coin Shadow Heroes for characters like Han Solo and Loki. It rests on Jung’s idea of Shadow sides and would represent people who are otherwise good but act on their “bad” impulses. Anti-heroes then, can be Humbert Humbert and Walter White and the Roys. They don’t have to be redeemed, they can have their universes where goodness doesn’t get rewarded and badness doesn’t get punished.
So, how do you write one of these characters?
First, I guess decide if you’re aiming for Han Solo or Humbert Humbert. If you’re aiming for the latter, I’d say write a villain but make him the main character. Don’t read any further.
If you’re aiming for Han Solo, then figure out what your culture—and the culture in your work—values and find a way to rebel against that, but make sure they don’t cross the line into outright immorality.
Next, make them hot; anti-heroes are almost never “handsome” or “beautiful” they’re sexy. It’s part of our weird Western moral value assigned to attraction that we inherited from Christianity—we can appreciate beauty, but when it leads to temptation and arousal, then it’s “bad.” Anti-heroes are always tempting.
Included in that: give them an edgy sense of humor, an edgy outfit, anything that toes the line between just enough and too much. Compare the outfits of Milady de Winter and Constance Bonacieux (this is the BBC’s The Musketeers take). You don’t need me to tell you which of these characters is the anti-hero/villain and which is the ally. Their poses help, but it’s also depicted in Milady de Winter’s outfit. It’s excessive and luxurious—ropes jewels around her neck, pearls sewn into her sleeves. It sexualizes her a lot more than Constance Bonacieux’s outfit does. The difference in their clothes also reflects a class difference, of course, but de Winter’s hair and outfits are always a little excessive while Constance’s almost never are. (Historically Milady de Winter is more of an outright villain than an anti-hero, the 2014 series shakes a few things up, including her motivations and how she grows, so I’ve included her here.)
Next, consider their ending very carefully. Some anti-heroes die at the end, some survive the story. Usually, when they die, it’s their big redeeming moment—they sacrifice themselves for the hero. Other times, they die because the moral arc of the story is skewed toward a strict idea of what’s right, and anti-heroes can’t survive in that world. In some cases, they die as a result of something they did before they changed sides. Then, it’s a lesson to the reader/viewer that their bad things looked fun but have a price. If they survive the story, consider how transformed they are; will they go back to their old ways? If so, hint at that.
Finally, have fun with it. Anti-heroes tap into the forbidden fruit that lies just beyond our reach. You’ll have to reach for it.
Thanks for reading! Let me know in the comments what you think of our anti-heroes—Are they your favorite?
Also, I hope you liked this hero series! Let me know your thoughts—maybe I can come up with more character and craft series in the future.
Our July virtual write-ins have been scheduled! Are you joining?
Finally, last week a big story I wrote about the closure of one of the oldest specialty coffee shops in the US was published. It was a very fun story to write, and I’d love it if you checked it out.
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