The Problematic Protagonist
Image by Kelly Sikkema via Unsplash.
But what about main characters who strongly resemble real people?
When I was in law school, my Ethics professor gave me a piece of advice that I often return to whenever I’m stuck on a messy problem. He’d taught us how to navigate complex ethical questions. He’d given us processes for approaching uncertainty. But when presented with a moral quagmire, he told us not to overthink it.
Let common sense guide you.
Because when someone is determined to make the ethical choice, returning to instinct often lights the path forward.
I actually love contemplating the moral grey areas. Sometimes, I think I enjoy writing fiction most because I get to live inside them. When the surrounding culture forces us into binary thinking (us versus them or right versus wrong or good versus evil), fiction shows us the layers. Even villains become complicated when you live inside their heads.
Lately, I’ve noticed a trend in fiction that presents its own ethical complexity: fictional books that are maybe about real people.
Life of M, a forthcoming book by Rachel Cusk, is allegedly, maybe based on actress Natalie Portman. Though Cusk and Portman are reportedly friends, a fictional plot based on an acquaintance could add, well, plot to any preexisting relationship. A recent column in UnHerd claimed that Portman was unhappy with the book: “The actresses’ dissatisfaction and betrayal at the finished product, as recorded in the final product of the book, is also true to life.”
For her part, Cusk told The New York Times that the similarities of the main character in Life of M to Portman “is not really the point.” Cusk continued: “It’s a work of fiction, and I guess explaining how something is created, because it’s always created out of a total mishmash of real things and invented schemes and personal material - once you start to pull on that thread, it would unravel the whole thing.”
But is it reasonable to expect readers to not pull on a loose thread?
As someone who has always loved to read fiction, I’ve also always wondered where books from, how much of authors’ lives are woven into their words, and what events inspired their plotlines. Maybe it’s a human response to read fiction and to wonder how much of a story is rooted in reality.
Cusk isn’t alone in responding to readers’ critiques that her main character reminds them of somebody they already know. Yesteryear, the blockbuster novel by Caro Claire Burke, arrived on the scene with a similar whiff of familiarity. Yesteryear features a protagonist “tradwife” social media influencer who runs a lucrative digital empire before mysteriously waking up in 1855. The social satire asks big questions of the conflicting ideals that influencer “tradwives” promote, as they elevate traditional homemaking while also often serving as the economic engines of their families.
However, Yesteryear drew specific comparisons, too. Yesteryear’s main character, Natalie, reminded many readers of Ballerina Farm Creator Hannah Neeleman. Neeleman acknowledged the resemblance, telling Vulture, “I know what’s going on … I’m surprised it didn’t come sooner, honestly.”
Yesteryear’s author shared her views on the comparison, too.
“So, if people want to talk about Yesteryear in the context of Ballerina Farm, they can and they should,” Burke told The Shameless Book Club, before continuing, “I’m trying to think of like the nicest way to say this. I haven’t really been waiting for a quote from [Neeleman]. I knew someone would ask and I knew she would have a response at some point, but it didn’t really matter to me …. this is a novel. This is not about her.”
Whether or not these authors were influenced by actual people, the inquiry they’ve confronted isn’t new. In The Shampoo Effect by Jenny Jackson, another buzzy read released earlier this year, Jackson confronts this ethical dilemma head-on. I won’t spoil Jackson’s deceptively smart and ambitious book here. However, I’ll note that Jackson took inspiration from a real-life scenario. When author John Updike published a novel inspired by his social circle, Couples, the fall-out had real implications for the people who had inspired his characters.
Unfortunately, the prickly reality of fiction inspired by real people is ethically fraught. Because those real people are often affected in real-time by the book’s reception. Every novel is birthed into an uncertain world, but novels that wink at actual people go one step further: they forever tether people to stories they might not wish to live.
So, should authors have the right to cast shadows over other peoples’ lives with their pen?
I’ve turned over this idea for some time in my head. No matter the arguments in favor of projecting a fictional plot onto an actual person, I keep circling back to what my Ethics professor told us to do. His words have often become the bricks of my difficult choices. Common sense. Values. Instinct. Ostensibly, he was trying to teach us how to be good lawyers. But I think he offered guidance on how to be a good person, too.
For my part, I can’t imagine using my work to dissect a living person. Maybe every character unavoidably contains pieces of me and people I’ve met throughout my life, but I’m unaware of that as I write characters who all feel brand-new. I love the first blush aspect of meeting them. I love the way characters come to me now, as strangers I trust I’ll get to know better over time. They become more real with each round of editing, and I’m simply the lucky conduit who will their story.
Deep down, maybe I also love knowing that the messy plot points they’ll confront will be all theirs. That their stories, for all of their sharp edges, won’t cut real skin. No real person should be hurt by the life breathed into these people on my pages.
Best of all, on the other side of publication, the real people in my life will get to meet them alongside the rest of the world. All at once, for the very first time.
