5 Addictive Books Where You Absolutely Hate the Main Character
Amanda M. Castro is a Network TV writer at Collider and a New York–based journalist whose work has appeared in Newsweek, where she is an Associate Editor, and The U.S. Sun, where she previously served as a Senior Consumer Reporter.
She specializes in network television coverage, delivering sharp, thoughtful analysis of long-running procedural hits and ambitious new dramas across broadcast TV. At Collider, Amanda explores character arcs, storytelling trends, and the cultural impact of network series that keep audiences tuning in week after week.
Born and raised in Puerto Rico, Amanda is bilingual and holds a degree in Communication, Film, and Media Studies from the University of New Haven.
Some fictional characters make you root for them from the first page, while others make you wonder how anyone could possibly tolerate them. The latter can be just as compelling, especially when their terrible decisions, selfish behavior, and spectacular lack of self-awareness turn an otherwise ordinary story into a page-turning absolute. Sometimes, the best reason to keep reading is the hope that a protagonist will finally get what’s coming to them.
From a privileged New Yorker trying to sleep off her problems to a writer who steals her dead friend’s work, these five novels prove a great story doesn’t need a likable protagonist. Their central characters might drive you up the wall, but their increasingly questionable decisions make them almost impossible to put down. Think of them as five literary car crashes you’ll struggle to look away from.
1. My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh
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Image via Jonathan Cape Ltd</figure>
Ottessa Moshfegh‘s My Year of Rest and Relaxation follows an unnamed young woman who decides the solution to her problems is to sleep through an entire year. Living on Manhattan’s Upper East Side in 2000, the recent art history graduate has money, an enviable apartment, and access to a psychiatrist who seems remarkably willing to prescribe whatever medication she requests. Following the deaths of both her parents, she becomes increasingly determined to shut out the world, spending her days under the influence of prescription drugs and watching movies on her VCR. Her plan sounds straightforward enough, except that her life still involves other people, including her increasingly irritating college friend, Reva, and Trevor, an ex-boyfriend who treats their relationship as a convenience.
The protagonist’s commitment to avoiding everything would be funny enough on its own, but Moshfegh makes her hard to sympathize with by giving her a viciously judgmental worldview. She looks down on Reva despite recognizing her friend’s insecurities, dismisses the people around her as beneath her attention, and treats her considerable privilege as an excuse to disengage from life altogether. Yet her observations about the world are often so cutting that it’s difficult not to laugh, even when she’s being downright cruel. Moshfegh’s dark comedy gradually reveals a much sadder story about grief and emotional isolation, making this an absorbing character study of someone who wants to escape being alive without considering what that escape might cost.
2. Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn
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Image via Orion</figure>
Gillian Flynn‘s Gone Girl begins when Nick Dunne returns home on the fifth anniversary of his marriage and finds his wife, Amy, missing. Signs of a struggle soon raise suspicion, while Nick’s odd behavior does little to convince law enforcement of his innocence. The novel juxtaposes Nick’s contemporary narration with Amy’s diary entries; the action centers on a failing marriage in which both parties face financial difficulties and betrayal. One remarkable aspect of the story is that neither narrator is fully honest, and the more they reveal, the harder it becomes to determine whose version of events is true.
Amy and Nick are both spectacularly frustrating, although for very different reasons. Nick’s selfishness and infidelity make him difficult to defend, while Amy’s obsession with appearances and her determination to punish anyone who disappoints her reveal a far more disturbing streak. Flynn understands that the ugliest relationships aren’t always built around obvious villains; sometimes, two people sustain them because they’d rather destroy each other than admit they’ve made a mistake. The novel’s shifting perspectives make it addictive because every new revelation forces readers to reconsider what they thought they knew. You might spend one chapter sympathizing with a character only to spend the next wondering how you ever fell for their act.
3. Yellowface by R. F. Kuang
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Image via William Morrow</figure>
In R. F. Kuang‘s Yellowface, struggling author June Hayward watches her former classmate and fellow writer Athena Liu die in a freak accident. Athena has the successful literary career June desperately wants, and when June finds an unpublished manuscript in her apartment, she makes a decision that changes everything: she steals it, revises it, and publishes it under her own name. The book becomes a bestseller, giving June the recognition she’s always craved, but her success brings growing scrutiny over her decision to publish a novel about Chinese laborers under the racially ambiguous pen name Juniper Song. As accusations of plagiarism and cultural appropriation mount, June becomes increasingly desperate to protect the career she believes she deserves.
June is infuriating because she recognizes her actions are selfish but never accepts she’s done anything wrong. She repeatedly reframes her theft as collaboration, convinces herself Athena somehow deserved it, and treats criticism as proof the world is conspiring against her. Kuang uses June’s first-person narration to expose the mental gymnastics behind her entitlement, letting readers watch her turn increasingly indefensible decisions into supposed acts of self-preservation. The novel’s satire of the publishing industry and social media adds another layer, but June remains the story’s most frustrating character. She’s not oblivious to her own behavior; she simply believes she’s entitled to get away with it.
4. The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides
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Image via Celadon Books</figure>
The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides tells the story of Alicia Berenson, the famous painter who shot her husband five times but has never said a word ever since. Six years later, psychoanalyst Theo is determined to find out what really happened that night and believes he can do what others couldn’t. Though Alicia’s silence has become a puzzle for the media and the public, Theo is not only trying to satisfy his professional curiosity; he also wants to become Alicia’s doctor at one of London’s well-known hospitals. Through therapy sessions, interviews with people from Alicia’s life, and passages from her diary, the novel slowly unpacks the events surrounding the crime and raises questions about the people trying to understand her.
Theo initially seems more sympathetic, but his fixation on Alicia makes him increasingly hard to trust. He’s so determined to solve her mystery that he repeatedly crosses professional boundaries, pursuing information about her life with an intensity that goes well beyond ordinary therapeutic concern. His confidence in his own ability to understand Alicia is particularly frustrating because he seems far less interested in questioning his motivations. Michaelides keeps readers invested by making Theo’s investigation feel like a race toward an answer, even as his behavior raises doubts about the person leading it. The psychological thriller’s carefully controlled revelations make it a compelling read for anyone who enjoys questioning a narrator’s motives, particularly when that narrator believes he’s the only person who can see the truth.
5. The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins
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Image via Riverhead Books</figure>
The plot of The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins centers on Rachel Watson, an alcoholic, unemployed woman who still takes the train to work every day. On her daily train journey, she passes her former home, where her ex-husband now lives with his new wife, and the house next door, where a couple lives whom Rachel dreams about. She even imagines that the strangers she calls Jess and Jason have an ideal relationship that gives her an escape from her tragedies. Nevertheless, after witnessing something upsetting and learning about the missing person, Megan Hipwell, she gets involved in the investigation, though she herself is not entirely trustworthy.
Rachel can be difficult to keep track of, especially as her drinking, obsessions, and attempts to act in other people’s lives often do more harm than good. She lies to learn about Megan, keeps communicating with her ex despite their past relationship, and struggles to separate memories of events from her worries. Yet Hawkins gives Rachel more complexity than a simple label like “unlikable” suggests. Rachel’s self-destructive behavior is inseparable from her declining self-esteem, and the book also reveals her lack of confidence in the story she tells herself about her life. The shifting point of view and rising tension make Rachel’s journey gripping, even though her decisions make you want to grab her by the shoulders and tell her to stop making it so complicated.
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