Way back in 2015, before we had an official Q&A section, I received this reader question about likability.
I’m writing my first book and have already plotted the story, but when I take to the internet to see how to make a character likable or if it’s important, I find numerous articles saying not to make the character likable. My main question is should a major character be likable – and if so, how, or should I make them dislikable?
– Ethan Michael
Ethan was just trying to get his first book done, and he’d already run into so many provocative doubt pieces that he was wondering if his main character should be disliked.
I hadn’t covered likability before, but its importance was obvious. Readers often report that disliking the main character negatively impacted their enjoyment of a story, and writers generally want to avoid this. Wherever writers are not getting the results they want, advice to help them is needed.
As the years passed, I learned that likability was even more essential than I thought. I also homed in on the most effective techniques for encouraging it. But the articles Ethan mentioned haven’t gone away; likability remains one of the most controversial storytelling concepts Mythcreants covers.
Given that, it’s time for an updated overview of what likability is, what’s most important for new writers to know, and the debate taking place. You can still read my original 2015 answer via PDF.
What Is Likability?
When I discuss concepts in depth, I start by defining them. Readers can’t follow my advice unless they know what I mean, and people get in an astounding number of false debates because their definitions differ.
In this case, about 90% of the arguments against likability use a definition that no storyteller should be using: whether we would like someone if we met them in real life. A storyteller has little reason to care about that; stories aren’t real life. And when readers complain about likability, it’s not because that character is living next door and wouldn’t let them borrow some sugar.
If someone likes reading about or watching a character, for them, that character is likable. That’s all. For a storyteller, audience engagement is the only relevant metric. That means if you ignore all of my likability advice and readers enjoy your characters anyway, then congratulations, your characters are likable. And readers who’ve had a good experience with a character don’t leave reviews complaining about how unlikable the character is.
Likability doesn’t mean characters should be perfect, bland, or boring. While likability is affected by whether the character does good deeds, it’s by no means defined by it. Skilled storytellers have managed to make all sorts of despicable characters likable; take Eleanor Shellstrop from The Good Place or Frank Underwood from House of Cards. And far from encouraging cookie-cutter personalities, characters who are unusual get a likability bonus because they have higher novelty. Seven of Nine, Murderbot, and Deadpool all broke the mold to their benefit.
Does likability come with constraints? Yes, because any audience will generally like some things more than others. But the same goes for every aspect of storytelling. People also don’t like tangential exposition dumps or head hopping. Understanding how people respond to stories and creating the experience we want for them is what storytelling is about.
That doesn’t mean that broad likability has to be your highest goal, or a goal at all. You might decide that your story is for some people and not others, and tailor your characters accordingly. You might sacrifice likability to send a message. But regardless of your objective, you’ll make better storytelling decisions if you understand how much it matters to your audience.
Why Is Likability Important?
Let’s start with the obvious. An overwhelming portion of any story is devoted to its characters – the main character in particular. The reader should get something from consuming tons of narration about that person. If hearing about the characters is boring or annoying, why would they stick around?
What’s less obvious is the impact likability has on other aspects of audience engagement. Likability is necessary for readers to become emotionally attached to characters. Then caring about the story’s characters allows readers to care about everything else by extension – including the story’s plot. The higher reader attachment is, the more small events feel important, and the stronger motivation readers have to continue the story – even if it’s boring or unpleasant.
On top of that, disliking a character can become a downward spiral. Most storytellers encourage emotional investment in characters, and then they write their stories under the assumption that the audience will be delighted when the main character succeeds and disappointed when they fail. But an audience who dislikes the main character may not have that reaction. When the storyteller inevitably glorifies the character, these readers will become even more frustrated.
While storytelling includes many niche choices and techniques, these don’t change the basic equation. If the storyteller wants their audience to root for the protagonist’s downfall, the story will still benefit if readers find the protagonist morbidly fascinating – another form of likability. Some books are popular with a protagonist that’s only loved by a core group of readers or with a protagonist that is neither loved nor hated by anyone. Regardless, liking the protagonist gives engagement a powerful boost, and any story that neglects likability has to make up for it in other ways.
What Makes Characters Likable?
This is a complex question because it varies so much based on the type of character and the reader. Let’s go over the big factors.
Character Identification
A common phenomenon in storytelling is audience members who identify with characters. People tend to do this when the character shares important traits with them. The most obvious shared traits are demographics, such as a young white male reader identifying with a young white man in the story. However, more specific traits like being a parent who is stressed out, loving horses, or being shy can also play a role.
Identification is niche by nature. No character can make every audience member identify with them. But when it happens, likability skyrockets. Unfortunately, audiences who identify with a character also have different tastes. They’ll want the story to have more wish fulfillment so they can enjoy it vicariously. That means lots of candy (glorification) for their character. To those who don’t identify with the character, this can make protagonists unlikable.
Storytellers who aim for identification generally choose a specific audience demographic to cater to. Often, they’ll make their protagonist blank – giving them a generic personality so more people will relate to them. Harry Potter is an example of this kind of character. His personality traits, such as bravery and rule breaking, are generic heroic traits. He succeeds at school when it matters, but struggles just enough to stay relatable to the many school-age readers who don’t ace all of their classes.
While encouraging identification is a viable strategy, Mythcreants doesn’t teach this method because of its narrower appeal. Instead, we encourage storytellers with wish-fulfillment characters to make a few changes that will broaden the character’s appeal while preserving identification. That means toning down the amount of candy these characters get and adding traits that are appealing to others.
Broadly Appealing Characteristics
Discounting the effects of identification, there are three general characteristics that make characters appealing to most people. The reverse of each characteristic can make audiences dislike a character if not handled carefully.
- Selfless. A selfless character helps others at a personal cost to themself. The reverse is a selfish character, who harms innocent people to benefit themself.
- Sympathetic. A sympathetic character has suffered through no fault of their own. The reverse is an arrogant character, who has an oversized ego resulting from easy success.
- Novel. A novel character can have any unusual trait that the audience finds interesting. The reverse is a clichéd character, who will annoy some audience members by embodying tropes that have been used to excess.
While these traits make a big difference, characters don’t need all of them. In fact, a character could be likable without any, though I would expect the audience will warm up to them more slowly. To encourage emotional investment, I recommend giving main characters two out of three. For more specific examples of these characteristics in action and protagonists that use them, see my article Twelve Traits for a Lovable Hero.
If a character has none of the reverse traits and is still disliked, it’s often because the storyteller is so focused on the character’s flaws that the rest of the character is neglected. For instance, they might plan six different ways their protagonist grows during the story. That’s too many. Even in a novel, there won’t be enough space left to build understanding and empathy for each growth area. Or the storyteller might exaggerate a flaw to the point where the character feels entirely defined by it. Remember that characters can also become deeper and more nuanced through their strengths.
Likability in Protagonists, Antagonists, & Side Characters
While audiences should like antagonists and side characters, they don’t need to identify with them or emotionally invest in them. Because of this, likability is a little different depending on the role the character plays in the story.
Understanding and Humility for Protagonists
People become more emotionally attached to characters if they understand them well. A storyteller who makes a protagonist’s motivation clear, communicates any background that affects how they feel, and illuminates their thought process will encourage likability. That’s because this transparency makes the protagonist more sympathetic and easier to identify with. Plus, just like in real life, familiarity can lead to affection. That’s why when storytellers try to make protagonists mysterious, it lowers engagement.
Protagonists are more likable when they’re underdogs. Humility in a protagonist encourages sympathy, whereas seeing a character get constant candy invokes dislike. This is why serving wish fulfillment to people who identify with a character is so alienating to everyone else. However, this doesn’t mean that the protagonist should never be treated to candy – that would make the story too gloomy for many audiences. A balance between spinach and candy is required.
Mystery and Glory for Antagonists
While antagonists can be sympathetic, they don’t need to be. When they are, they are often secondary to a bigger bad. That’s because sympathetic traits can reduce an antagonist’s effectiveness as a threat, and the audience may become invested in seeing a sympathetic antagonist change sides.
Mystery, on the other hand, is ideal for the primary antagonist in a high tension story. It arouses curiosity and boosts their threat level. This is why some villains such as Sauron are barely shown in the story. The aura of mystery Tolkien creates for Sauron makes the character feel larger than life. The more Sauron talks, the more he comes off as just another person who can be defeated. For an antagonist to be outright scary, mystery is usually required.
Similarly, without needing sympathy, antagonists are free to be as successful, slick, and badass as the storyteller wishes. In fact, villains often become more popular by having these traits. Audiences want to see villains with strengths; a villain who is detestable in every respect is cliché and tiresome for many people. Darth Vader is a great example of a glorified antagonist who was popular with audiences.
Helpfulness for Side Characters
Secondary characters are generally judged by how they relate to the main character or another central protagonist that the audience is invested in.
If they are mean or otherwise hostile to the protagonist, then they will be considered a secondary antagonist by the audience. You can treat them like other antagonists, but making them sympathetic and reconciling them with the protagonist later is a stronger possibility.
Otherwise, allies are usually judged based on whether they’re a help or a hindrance. A sidekick that continually causes problems for the protagonist will become annoying to many audience members. This doesn’t mean they can’t make mistakes and cause problems at all; they should just help more often than they hinder. With a large team of protagonists, it can be tricky to find ways for everyone to help out. For ideas, see 18 Ways for Protagonists to Contribute.
Why Likability Is Controversial
I mentioned that about 90% of arguments against likability are using a different definition. Are we all just talking past each other? I doubt it. If that were the case, we would’ve sorted it out by now. Instead, the “meet in real life” definition is probably being promoted to discredit likability.
So why would people want to do that?
Writers and Fans Get Defensive
Never underestimate how defensive people get when the stories they like are criticized. People get especially attached to characters, and likability is a common criticism of characters. However, it’s difficult to tell readers they’re wrong about their own negative experiences. By redefining likability as something other than reader interest, criticisms can be dismissed by arguing against likability itself.
Fanragers also like to argue that likability problems don’t count because the storyteller sabotaged their character intentionally. But this is irrelevant. The intent behind the story doesn’t change its strengths or weaknesses.
Likability Upends Romanticism
Today’s literary culture is narrowly focused on characters. Literary elitists like to romanticize storytelling, and they often resent “the masses” and disparage the idea of entertainment. Teaching likability is a far cry from this. It means not only demystifying characters but also taking reader entertainment into account when creating them. To those most influenced by literary culture, it may feel like this is cheapening their art or taking the magic away.
However, literary elitists still want their stories to be appreciated by readers, even if they don’t always want to admit it. They’re just hoping that if they write whatever they feel like, reader engagement will solve itself. Suffice to say, I don’t recommend this approach.
Readers Have Double Standards
Some feminists object to likability because of the double standards of our culture. For instance, a self-serving woman will probably be judged more harshly than a self-serving man. While double standards are indeed a problem, using that to attack likability is like saying we should abolish paychecks because women are paid less than men. Besides, the best we could do is bury our heads in the sand. Readers won’t stop reacting to characters or applying double standards just because we’re ignoring it.
The real solution to bias is to work on reforming our culture. That should include writing more marginalized characters, and it can include writing marginalized characters that some people will judge harshly. Stories that push the envelope can help change subconscious beliefs and start discussions about how characters are judged.
Today, Mythcreants promotes likability as one of the storytelling basics that every fiction writer should know. For anyone who cares about engaging their audience, its impact on readers is too large to be treated as an afterthought. But that doesn’t mean you can’t create flawed and interesting characters. It just means you should consider how your characters affect the experience you’re creating.
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Oh boy, another likability article, another commenter complaining about the definition!
I think your definition of likability is much less useful than the dictionary or everyday definition, and the crux of this article is a bait-and-switch that states the obvious. People, including me, are curious about how they can make audiences invested in a character who isn’t charming and personable, someone they probably wouldn’t like in real life. And according to this article (and the previous article), the answer is “Is your character well-written and not boring or annoying? Then they actually were likable to begin with.” That’s not very useful. Just about everyone knows that you should write characters that your audience enjoys reading about. What I want to know is how to take a character who is unlikable (my definition, the “would you like them in real life” definition) and make them likable (your definition).
Also, I don’t see the problem with using the common definition of likability when referring to fiction. With a few exceptions, fiction should be described just like reality. You can use the same definition of “smart” to describe both Sherlock Holmes and Neil deGrasse Tyson. Eleanor is a likable character because I think I would enjoy being around her in real life (although it might be a similar type of enjoyment that I get while watching a movie like The Room). To me, Walter White is not a likable character, but he cultivates audience investment better than just about anyone in the history of television. Likability is different from sympathy or morality, and I definitely think it’s useful to have a definition of likability that’s more specific than just “does the audience like this character?”
Overall, there were some parts of this article that were very useful, much more so than the earlier likability article. In fact, it even does a solid job answering my question of how to create investment in an unlikable character (my definition). But I still don’t think you need to redefine likability just to cause controversy and confusion. I know that “likability” technically means “ability to be liked,” but language is weird, and most people’s definition of likability is much narrower and refers to a specific type of personality. Lots of people like ice cream, but few would describe ice cream as “likable.” I think the same is true for fictional characters. People can like them as pieces of art and entertainment for many reasons, including being likable in a traditional sense, but being likable isn’t the only way they can be appreciated.
“What I want to know is how to take a character who is unlikable (my definition, the “would you like them in real life” definition) and make them likable (your definition).”
They already have a few articles on the how of likeability. This article is about explaining why the discussion around what “likeability” means needs to happen because aparently, a lot of people don’t understand this concept, or don’t like that it’s a thing at all (“I’m gonna make my irredeamable murderous protagonist however I want and no one can stop me!”)
But isn’t “would I like to spend time with that character” a very subjective frame of reference? By this definition, for me, Eleanor was an unlikeable character. My goal as a writer isn’t necessarily to create friend–shaped characters, my goal is to make the reader care about them. They should “like” them as “fictional devices” not “real people”, I think.
I think the entire debate hinges on people conflating whether “likeable” means “interesting” or “endearing”.
Great article!
I’d love to see an analysis of characters with negative and potentially “unlikeable” traits and how the storytellers make them still appealing to the audience! Mythcreants has commented on Eleanor from the Good Place and Zuko from ATLA, but I’d like to learn more about “anit-heroes” or characters with downward arcs. My go-to example would be Walter White from Breaking Bad, who does terrible things and deserves a tragic ending, but we the viewers find ourselves rooting for.
I’ve only seen one episode of Breaking Bad but from that it seemed like they were going with a three pronged attack, hitting all of Chris’ main points.
First, sympathy: Walter has cancer and his healthcare won’t cover him. He didn’t deserve that! Not only is this problem not his fault, it’s about shitty healthcare, something many Americans have personally experienced.
Second, selflessness: he starts cooking meth so he can leave something for his family. He won’t benefit from this (so he thinks), and it’s a dangerous job that’s likely to shorten his life even further.
Third, novelty: A highschool chemistry teacher cooking meth? That’s weird and different!
From there, it seems like they build enough attachment in Walter that viewers are invested in him, even later when he starts doing truly heinous stuff.
Walter White definitely has novelty and, by the end, attachment!
I agree that the cancer diagnosis in the US healthcare system really builds sympathy, but I think a lot of sympathy is built by establishing how he was wronged in the past and now can’t afford to cope with his problems because of it. He does feel bad about having to kill people early on, though, and we sympathize with him being far out of his element.
I think even in the first season it’s made clear that he starts cooking meth to feel powerful and in control in response to his past, not necessarily just to help his family, so I don’t think he’s ever truly selfless. But I’m guessing a lot of viewers empathize with this sort of need to feel powerful.
I’ve watched the whole show, and to me it seems like Walt is more invested in his ROLE as “family provider”, like fulfilling the male gender role, than truly caring about his family. I know tons of fans are gonna fight me on this, but if you actually care and respect your wife and almost adult son, you don’t do shit like this behind their back just because YOU think that the most important thing is to leave them money. They should have a say. But a man stuck in patriarchal ideology thinks it’s fine that the man makes all the decisions, as long as he “provides”.
Many BB fans hate Skylar (his wife) so much because they think she’s “unsupportive”, EVEN THOUGH WALT’S GOT CANCER, how mean is that?
To me (and Husband, we both had trouble understanding the Skylar hate) she’s a regular person who’s put in one shitty situation after the other and constantly just tries to cope as best she can. She tries to be there for him for a long time, but it gets increasingly difficult when he lies and lies and lies.
Anyway, me and Husband mostly identified with and rooted for Skylar, and obviously Jesse (Walt’s partner, who’s really just a kid and small-time criminal, not a bad person, and increasingly out of his depth). We never really liked Walt, and that would probably have been a big issue if it had been a book written from his PoV, but in a TV show where especially Jesse gets nearly as much screen time as Walt, it’s fine.
I think MANY fans who love Walt, though, do so because he’s a wishfulfilment character. Not the cancer in particular, but going from “pathetic” to “badass” and feared and respected and eventually going out in a blaze of glory – that’s certainly a popular fantasy.
My take is that a character doesn’t have to be likable, so long as the narrative doesn’t insist the reader like said character.
Yes, to a degree. If the whole story is revolving around that character, you will want for them to be interesting at least, even if they’re not outright likeable.
My go-to example for a character who isn’t likeable, but makes a good protagonist (I wouldn’t call him a ‘hero’) is Johannes Cabal, a necromancer of some little infamy. Johannes is cold-blooded, anti-social, and doesn’t shy away from killing. On the other hand, he is entertaining to read about and the author doesn’t shy away from putting him into highly humiliating and dangerous situations (such as hanging out of a hatch of an airship only in a dressing gown and slippers while someone tries to make him let go). Not likeable, but interesting.
Agreed, though the point I was trying to make is that an author shouldn’t be telling us, implicitly or otherwise, to sympathize with an unsympathetic character.
I do agree with that point.
We can follow an unsympathetic character if what’s happening around them is interesting, we don’t need to like them or sympathize with them.
“While double standards are indeed a problem, using that to attack likability is like saying we should abolish paychecks because women are paid less than men.”
Well, full communism *would* solve the problem of pay inequity rather neatly. I understand that’s not what you meant, but I’m just throwing that out there. ;-)
Is the Grinch likeable? Not ever protag needs to be likeable but it’s easier to write a good story with a likeable one. Or a good story with an unlikeable protag that gets redeemed.
The Grinch has novelty, and he doesn’t have anything that makes him actually unlikable. Like many successful selfish protagonists, his bad behavior is designed so that its impact isn’t felt emotionally by audiences.
Good article.
By the way, remembering the SCP foundation (are you familiar with it? – it’s awesome) I would say that there is one more way to make a character likable, even if they have otherwise horrible traits: making their problem or antagonist much much worse (think cosmic horror story).
Outside the SCP verse, this “likability in comparison” is often used in works of Lovecraft or in the Warhammer 40k universe.
Why does a reader have to like a character? Just for marketing/profit? Great literature was not slanted for likeability. I despise reader reviews that take issue with character likeability. The story is not about you, the reader. It is an escape from your existing reality.
The story is about the reader. Otherwise why would they be reading it? (In fact, if it is as you say an escape from YOUR existing reality, as in YOU the reader, then it is indeed incredibly about YOU the reader.) If nobody wants to read the story, it’s a bad story. And if someone didn’t like a character, that’s a perfectly valid review and comment on the book. Also, yeah, a lot of writers want readers to like their characters and provide an escape from reality. That’s not a flaw on the authors’ part, nor the readers. It’s also not about profit or marketing – it’s about storytelling. What an odd thing to imply it’s somehow independent of that.
Likability also has a lot to do with what a culture values, so it shifts over time. ‘Great literature’, as you call it, expected characters to be likable, for its *intended audience*.
Taking classical lit as an example, the Greeks who read Homer would see a lot more merit in a character like Odysseus, or even Agamemnon, than we would, because their attitudes on morality are distinct from our own. So they wouldn’t have the same degree of cognitive dissonance that we do over say, Odysseus’ fidelity to Penelope and his constant philandering behavior in the Odyssey.
What is the appeal of the escape if I don’t find it enjoyable? I don’t want to run away with someone I don’t like. I feel like those things are far more related than you might otherwise believe.
Editor’s note: I’ve removed a comment both for being a repeat and for calling the author ignorant. You’re welcome to disagree with us, but insults and personal attacks are not tolerated.
I can appreciate your lens on likeability, but this all seems awfully prescriptivist to me. Maybe it works when what you’re doing is trying to make everything fit a very narrow formula, but not everything should–because then everything becomes boring.
Blank protags are boring and don’t meet your “novelty” standard. It’s absolutely possible for selflessness to be a flaw rather than a strength. Characters who’ve suffered through no fault of their own can end up becoming the villain by taking that narrative too far, becoming narcissists consumed by their own suffering. And the idea that you try to push certain formulaic traits onto authors’ writing just to fit the broadest possible “likeability” by what you think are likeable traits? Doesn’t sit well. Not every author is writing for the broadest possible audience. Some authors are specifically writing against what’s popular among general audiences. Maybe those authors are just not the types of authors you work with, but if your idea is to work with authors on social justice issues, I think you should really reconsider your prescriptivist approach–especially when it comes to antagonists.
I couldn’t disagree more about the antagonists. Mystery and glory works sometimes, but the whole “shrouding your two-dimensional villain in mystery so you don’t actually have to engage with their point of view” is overdone. Characters like Killmonger in Black Panther are more powerful the -more- they talk–because the whole point is to make the audience realize they understand his point of view even if they disagree with his actions, and that’s the value of making villains three-dimensional: you can do a lot more to leave the audience thinking about real-world problems–often social justice issues–when you have a complicated, three-dimensional villain with whom they can identify. The point isn’t to get Killmonger to switch sides, either–though certainly that’s the hero’s goal. Rather, it’s his complete dedication to his own point of view that becomes his downfall, his hamartia, his Achilles’ Heel. It’s the same with all the villains in Legend of Korra–another, may I point out, social-justice-oriented narrative. All the villains become more enticing the more they talk because they make Korra question whether she’s on the right path. The type of villains you’re talking about aren’t the type of villains you can have in a narrative that actually does the work to dig deep on social justice issues, and the reason is that our world is simply way more complicated than dichotomies of heroes and villains–social justice issues are more complicated than that. Personally, the best antagonists are the ones that show the hero–and by extension, whatever part of ourselves we identify with the hero–where our faults lie. You can’t do that off-screen.
Likability has a lot to do with being able to identify with the hero (or main character, to be less judgmental). If a MC is likable to the audience, they will be invested in the story, because they want for the MC to come out as a victor, to get what they’re going for.
You can write for a niche market. You can write for people who despise social justice and want the standard hero who’s been around for ages. You can write for people who want their male hero to be a sexist and won’t accept anything else. You can write for all kinds of markets, but it will always be with an MC who is likable for the market you’re going for. It’s very hard to write an MC your target audience doesn’t like in some way at least that will make them stay engaged with the story.
Yes, too much of a positive trait can also be a flaw. If you’re selfless to the point where people walk all over you and use you and you still don’t stand up for yourself, you’re definitely too selfless and need to get over it.
On the other hand, negative traits can also work in favour of a character. I talk too much about Johannes Cabal, because he’s a deeply unlikable character who still is very interesting to read about, both because he gets less unlikable over time and because the author isn’t afraid of putting him into dangerous and humiliating situations (or both – often both).
A negative trait can be something that would help in moderation – such as that selfless character becoming a tad egoistical and learning to draw a line in the sand.
Villains have to be competent above all – not just in a social justice story. If a villain isn’t competent, the MC can’t be a good hero. At the same time, your villain can both be ‘fully evil’ without any redeeming features or motives you can understand and agree with or more tempered and with a background or goal which is understandable, even if you don’t agree with their way of going about things.
Pulp villains are often over the top and really, really evil without any redeeming features. Yet, they are only really threatening when they’re competent and know what they do. A villain who doesn’t know what they’re doing and who can’t keep things under control most of the time, will do the MC/hero no justice (not in the social meaning, either).
By and large, yes….a protagonist of a story should in most cases, be at least somewhat likeable. But like with most “rules”, there are certain exceptions or at least specific cases/examples of story protagonists, that is not likeable, yet it is still good stories.
One example that come to my mind, is the “Flashman papers” by George MacDonald Fraser. The (fictitious) protagonist of said papers; which are purportedly the secret, personal diaries of celebrated Victorian age, all-British Hero, the late Brigadier General Sir Harry Flashman, Knight of Bath and Victoria Cross Recipient; have the protagonist describing himself as a liar, bully, coward, lecherous womaniser and a lot more. He is most certainly a very unsympathetic anti-hero, that could even be said to have more than a bit of a psychopathic streak. In the first novel of the series “Flashman” he even rapes an Afghan dancing-girl (though later comes to regret it, but only because she appears later in the story to take her revenge).
He is a racist and a mean, brutal and unpleasant person, though not entirely without some minor positive traits. He is not a protagonist that one roots for, yet the stories are still very entertaining, and with lots of witty comments and observations by said protagonist, that expose the hypocrisy and bigotry of his society and age (because the eponymous “Flashman” papers, are the purported protagonists secret diaries, in which he is entirely honest and hides nothing). So there some occasional examples in which the protagonist of a story, does not necessarily have to be sympathetic and relatable.
Another example could also include the celebrated hero of Frank Herberts Dune novels, Paul “Muad´Dib” Atreides. Though young Paul is generally described as a typical “noble hero” in most parts of the first novel, he also occasionally indulges in deliberate cruelty and brutality, and by the second Dune novel, Dune Messiahs, he have become a tyrannical Emperor, that are responsibel for unleashing a devastating Jihad, that have claimed billions of human lifes. Though Herbert clearly tries to state that Paul by then, does not have any real choices of preventing the carnage, a lot of Herberts arguments (voiced by Paul himself in the novel) seems increasingly unconvincing, and like the ramblings of a mind slowly beginning to slip into insanity (perhaps on purpose. Herbert had actually an axe to grind with humanity unquestioningly following strong, charismatic leaders). By the third novel, Children of Dune, Paul has descended into pure madness, and is reduced to a husk of the man he was, a mad “voice of the desert” type prophet, that is killed under tragic circumstances by the end of the novel. I personally never found Paul especially sympathetic or relatable (hard to relate to an aristocratic born “superhuman”) but still liked the novels and their storyline. So not all protagonists needs to be sympathetic, but by and large, yes, it is easier to get into a story with a somewhat sympathetic and relatable protagonist, and even if the protagonist is an anti-hero type, the are some levels of unpleasantness they should not indulge in.
In my experience, you can get surprisingly far with non-likable characters.
The romantic comedy genre, for example, could as well be described as two villainous characters ending up deserving each other.
Not that this necessarily makes it a good thing, as it has been noted in this blog before.