the rise of the unlikable woman

I am unlikeable, hear me roar

Unlikeable or problematic women in literature are far from a new phenomenon. For centuries there have been some less than desirable portrayals of the fairer sex. Usually these women are set up against likeable, appropriate ladies, or are struck down to send a clear unequivocal message to any wayward young women that read the book: there is a right way and a wrong way to be a woman. And the wrong kinds of women are villainous wretches that will meet an unkind end. Whereas the lovely, pliable, likeable, quiet women will get that happily ever after they so desperately desire.

Literature is littered with women that are so unreal, so unbelievable. And that's because they aren’t real. They aren’t grounded in sincere observation or admiration of the complex female experience. More often than not they are convenient tools for the male protagonists - love objects, plot devices. These women appear in the works of men that seemingly have never spent more than a few hours alone with a woman. There portrayals lack insight or curiosity. To be fair, it’s not just the men. Even women writers have done this. They cast insipid, simple women as their heroines. Women that never stray too far from the fold, never ruffle too many feathers. You cannot be a heroine if you are too wild, too unruly. And most importantly you must be beautiful (but in an effortless way).

When I was younger I always felt at odds with the women I encountered in these books. They were praised for their softness, for their quietness, and their easy beauty. Of course you could push up against the standards of propriety, you could challenge the status quo, but only a little and only if you were very beautiful and charming. As an awkward friendless adolescent I was none of these things. It felt like an awful burden, an impossible standard to meet. And I so desperately wanted to meet it.

Then, when I was seventeen on a study trip in China, a friend gave me a copy of Caitlin Moran’s self described memoir/rant How to be a Woman. It was revolutionary, (If you haven’t read it, then go right now to your library and get your hands on it. You can thank me later). It was feminism as I’d never encountered it. It was hilarious and relatable and reasonable. Moran is frank about occupying a fat teenage body, about being an adult that hasn't really worked it all out, and getting things desperately wrong, and being a bit mouthy and gross and inappropriate in an entirely un-pretty way. I loved her instantly, and pledged my allegiance to her completely (a decision I have never regretted). This opened the door, and my mind to this entirely other way of being a woman.

Shortly after this, another friend gave me her copy of The Valley of the Dolls. It is a fabulous novel about three wonderful women that are all unlikeable in their own unique ways. I started to see that being the ‘wrong’ kind of woman still meant you were interesting. That you were engaging and worth the space on the page. This started my love affair with what I like to think of as the female Holden Caulfield. It is not currently a recognised literary trope, but I’m hopeful it’ll catch on.

I define these as difficult, challenging and often unlikeable female leads. They are messy, and inappropriate. They frequently make terrible decisions, are frustrating, or just downright awful. But the key here is that they are allowed to be, they do not suffer for this. They are allowed to be complete complex flawed characters. They are interesting in there dysfunction. And much like Holden Caulfield, that is exactly the point. They represent an honest facet of the female experience, even if it is uncomfortable to look at. Not all women are likeable, or easy, or give a fuck about being likeable and easy. They are brash and abrasive and completely themselves. They are mavericks that rock the boat of acceptable femaleness. They are sex pirates, rock stars, cowboys, and artists. They are women, in all their glorious fuckery.

I find it comforting to see an increase in this kind of character. Many contemporary novels are devoted to showcasing and exploring exactly this kind of woman. They are being given a kind of cultural cachet. They are helping to expand the understanding of what it is to be a woman. We now have female characters that are lauded for all the worst parts of themselves. Some recent women that pop to mind are: the unnamed protagonist in My Year of Rest and Relaxation; the unhinged mother of the wonderful Nightbitch; struggling artist Frankie in A Line Made By Walking; Laurie in Ghosted; and many more. The shelves are littered with the stories of women that buck convention and take an interesting nuanced look at the reality of being a woman.

This is the kind of woman I aspire to write. In my own writing I find myself drawn to her, the messy, uncomfortable, awful woman. Those who aren’t easy, or easily understood.

This is the kind of woman I am, and it’s nice to finally be in good company.