Antiheroes are not a modern thing. They have their roots at the very core of fantasy literature, and indeed storytelling in general. Robert E. Howard’s Conan (who I will bang on more about later) is certainly an antihero. As is the wetboy Kylar Stern. As are, I would argue, the Greek gods of antiquity themselves!

Think about it – the Greek gods are never described as ‘good,’ even taking into account the difference between classical Greek and modern morality. They are absolutely the protagonists of their stories and the stars of the show. But look at the rage and capriciousness of Hera, or Zeus’ meme-worthy lust. Even the rational Apollo, the god of reason and logic, is not above flaying the odd satyr alive for having the nerve to challenge him to a music contest.

The antihero is the grime-smeared reflection in the hero’s mirror. He’s the hero after a really bad day, and he does what he does because he’s the only one with the balls to do it.

An antihero is not just a protagonist in black leather

What is an antihero exactly? Well, it’s a protagonist. That’s the important thing. They are one of the main characters. Antiheroes are more complex than your garden variety goody-two-shoes, so they both need and deserve more screen time to let this be fully explored. If they aren’t a main character, then they are just some jerk in the background.

They also have agency. Similar to the hero, they move the plot forward by their actions. This is a very important thing to note, and it goes above and beyond the normal importance of character agency. It is especially important for an antihero because without progression in the plot or striving towards their goal, they are basically left stewing in their own toxic personality.

But here’s what really defines them: an antihero has differing morals from the society around him and is willing to perform acts society would consider unpleasant.

So, let’s look at Conan. Readers of my articles will know that I do like to bang on about Conan, but that’s because Conan is awesome. He’s also a brilliant example of an antihero.

In Robert E. Howard’s Hyborian Age, Conan has numerous adventures in the lands of so-called civilised men. By definition, a barbarian stands apart from society. Conan’s morality is based on loyalty and oaths rather than allegiance to the laws of men.

Look at this extract from one of Howard’s greatest works, Queen of the Black Coast:

Well, last night in a tavern, a captain in the king’s guard offered violence to the sweetheart of a young soldier, who naturally ran him through. But it seems there is some cursed law against killing guardsmen, and the boy and his girl fled away. It was bruited about that I was seen with them, and so today I was haled into court, and a judge asked me where the lad had gone. I replied that since he was a friend of mine, I could not betray him. Then the court waxed wroth, and the judge talked a great deal about my duty to the state, and society, and other things I did not understand, and bade me tell where my friend had flown. By this time I was becoming wrathful myself, for I had explained my position.

 

But I choked my ire and held my peace, and the judge squalled that I had shown contempt for the court, and that I should be hurled into a dungeon to rot until I betrayed my friend. So then, seeing they were all mad, I drew my sword and cleft the judge’s skull; then I cut my way out of the court, and seeing the high constable’s stallion tied nearby, I rode for the wharfs, where I thought to find a ship bound for foreign ports.

Bam. Two paragraphs, and you’ll not find a better example of an antihero. Murder, theft, and above all a big middle finger to law and order.

An antihero gets things done their own way

So, why the hell do we put up with this guy?

Antiheroes need some redeeming features – both to the reader and to the other characters in the book. There has to be a reason people keep him around.

The first thing they need is competence.

A standard trope in fantasy is the Callow Youth, a hero yet untested by the world, naïve and incompetent. The antihero does not have this luxury. People will put up with the Callow Youth because, well, he’s nice. For contrast, take Luke Skywalker and Han Solo. Luke is basically an inoffensive young lad who is keen to learn. Han Solo is a cocky prick who is really good at what he does. He’s dishonest, self-interested, and basically shifty. But he’s a superb pilot and smuggler. He’s also the only one with a ship, so it’s an association by necessity.

In my own book, Brigandine, they keep Ulf around because he’s an expert in fighting the horrors of the Black Ram. But he’s also a violent alcoholic with bad impulse control. If he wasn’t a skilled warrior with unique knowledge of the enemy, the other characters would have left him behind at the nearest inn.

Secondly, they need some redeeming qualities. A reader will not be able to stomach a protagonist who is just constantly horrible. Going back to that extract from Queen of the Black Coast, Conan is not just some judge-killing loony. He is loyal to his friends and has a rough-and-ready sense of justice. Yes, he may be a thief, a pirate, a self-interested killer for hire – but Conan is also chivalric and dependable. In The Hour of the Dragon, an exiled and deposed King Conan muses about not bothering to retake his kingdom, but his duty and sense of honour win him over.

Codes like this, or other moral lines in the sand, show your readers that your antihero isn’t just a thug. Well, they might be a thug, but at the very least they’re a thug with some class.

Flawless writing needs flawed antiheroes

Speaking of flaws – all characters need them, but antiheroes especially. Now, let’s look at one of the greatest heroes of all fantasy – Aragorn. He has flaws. But his flaw is being afraid of succumbing to temptation, like Isildur before him. Don’t get me wrong, Aragorn is a superb character and is perfectly suited to the context of The Lord of the Rings books. But ‘I’m afraid I might do something wrong’ is not an antihero flaw.

Contrast that with Jorg Ancrath from Mark Lawrence’s Broken Empire series. Jorg is wonderfully immoral and is quite willing to commit all sorts of atrocities when leading his band of thugs. He’s quick to anger, impulsive, and stubborn. Not that these are all bad things for a leader to be. That’s why they are called ‘flaws.’

Flaws hinder a protagonist’s progress and get them into trouble. A crippling fear of elephants doesn’t really affect your protagonist if they never turn up in the book.
The point of making antiheroes flawed is that it shows their own negative traits getting in the way. For many antiheroes, they are their own worst enemy.

In my own book, Brigandine, Ulf struggles to get along with people who should be his allies and isolates himself from those around him. He’s a violent alcoholic with poor impulse control. And it hurts him, acting as a self-imposed road bump towards his goals.

When is edgy too edgy?

Did you ever play Dungeons and Dragons as a teenager? That last part is really important – as a teenager. Chances are, you made an EVIL character. Yeah, this is BloodMoon. She’s a Druid who hates all civilisation and wants to kill every elf in the world, because she was raised by elves, who betrayed her, and –

I’d like to add that I am certainly not unique in this. Some of my earliest LARP characters included Valamir Foul-Raven – who was exactly as edgy as he sounded. And Drizzle De’Mo’Fo – a lazy parody of Drizzt Do’Urden. But get this – Drizzle loved torturing things! And worshipping demons! And killing stuff! And sometimes he’d laugh when he killed stuff just so you’d know how truly SICK and TWISTED he was.

Yeah, okay, I was 18. We all make mistakes.

Point is, no-one would want to read a book about Valamir Foul-Raven. It would be 120k words of him scowling and sitting in the corner with a cloak over his eyes.

Only you know when to step away from the edge of too edgy. But here are some questions that might help:

  • Do I feel uncomfortable writing this? If you’re describing something your protagonist is doing and you genuinely feel a bit icky, chances are your readers will too. Fade to black instead.
  • Is this just gratuitous violence? Will this fight move the plot forward or give a pay-off? Violence is a tool in writing; use it wisely. Paragraph after paragraph of gore will swiftly just desensitise your readers.
  • Am I being edgy for the sake of it? If you are adding something on the darker side, ask yourself why. If you’re still on the first draft, leave a note to come back to it. And if you can’t give a proper reason on the second draft, edit it out.
  • Has it been done before? I know there is nothing new under the sun, but sadly Jaime Lannister ruined sister-shagging for the rest of us. Find something original.

Accept me for the hot mess that I am? Or give me a redemption arc?

So, this is the crucial part of the Hero’s Journey. In the classic Hero’s Journey, somewhere between the Transformation and Atonement part, the hero – according to Joseph Campbell – is basically dealing with self-doubt and their own desires. This happens around the later part of the book.

The antihero faces a stark decision. He can either toss off the dark robes of an antihero and become a fully fledged good-guy hero, or he can remain an antihero and do things his own way.

Look at the classic ending. The villain is defeated and at the hero’s mercy. ‘Do it!’ he hisses through bloody lips. Now, the typical hero will either spare the villain, or sometimes use a cop-out like ‘Do with him as you will,’ which conveniently gets rid of the antagonist without the hero getting their hands dirty. Mercy is for heroes. Antiheroes, not so much.

So, the crossroads your antihero will face is this – either overcome your flaws and join the ‘good’ guys, or embrace them – possibly using them to overcome the antagonist. Your flaw is anger and rage? Ok, let’s tap into that in the final fight to tear the villain limb from bloody limb.

The refusal to change does not mean the antihero is immune to character development – far from it. It just means that their character development is one of self-acceptance. E.g., I’m an awful person and yeah, I’m ok with that.

He who fights with monsters should see to it that he does not become a monster himself. And if you gaze into the abyss, please remember sunglasses.

Antiheroes are awesome

Or maybe I just think that because I grew up in the ’90s. Either way, I’ll leave you with that parting message. ‘He who fights with monsters.’ As well as being undeniably ‘cool,’ the best antihero characters remind us of how close they dance to the edge of villainy. And when that is done properly, it can make for some fantastic storytelling.

Jack Shannon is a massive nerd. He’s also the author of Brigandine, a Grimdark fantasy novel full of swords, bloodshed, and Lovecraftian horrors. If you like your books sweary, bloody, and just a bit funny, why not give it a read?

Do you write fantasy or science fiction?

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