When an “unlikable” character cost a book two stars:
I went to a book club discussion the other evening about Little One by Oliva Muenter, and I left with a question I can’t stop thinking about: How do we decide what makes a five-star book?
Twelve readers gathered around tables in a bookstore that evening, all clearly invested. Before the discussion even began, they voiced strong and animated opinions, showing passion about the plot and characters. Several readers called it a “fast read”—the kind you can’t put down. They talked about the tension, the drama, and the surprises they didn’t see coming. Yet when it came time for ratings, most gave the book three stars. It shocked me.
I said five and everyone’s eyes went wide.
No spoilers, but be warned, I’m going to discuss the main character:
The biggest issue seemed to be the narrator, Catharine. The readers called her manipulative through and through. One person called her a “total bitch.” Two talked about what they saw as a personality shift, disappointment at the end, even a sense of betrayal.
What baffled me: everything they reacted to—the manipulation, the complexity, the darker edges—was clearly built into the story. It wasn’t a last-minute trick. It was the whole point.
I found myself asking: Do we ding stars because we don’t like who a character turns out to be?
Why that doesn’t add up (at least for me)
How the character developed was not a flaw in the writing. It was craft. Kudos to author Olivia Muenter. Catharine’s character is shaped by growing up in a cult with her father as the leader. Her entire sense of self has been constructed inside a system most of us can’t begin to understand. (The book club even argued for ten minutes as to what constitutes a cult!)
Yet, the more you learn about Catharine’s past, the more her contradictions make sense. Your feelings about her keep shifting, and that’s exactly what makes the story compelling.
So when the narrator reveals who she really is, why the shock? Did these readers really want her to be better? Softer? Redeemed? Or did they want a real story?
Maybe the bigger question is: Do we really expect characters—and real people—to overcome everything in life, no matter how deeply rooted their damage?
At the end of the evening, I offered this to everyone: can someone raised in a cult ever fully shed that conditioning? This question alone creates empathy for the Catharine. By that I don’t mean approval but understanding. A five-star book, for me, isn’t about liking a character. It’s about being unable to look away. The story I can’t wait to get back to, the one I think about for days after. The one that unsettles me, challenges me, even frustrates me, but earns it. Just as Little One‘s ending was earned.
Besides, I don’t need to love the characters. I just need to believe them.
Interestingly, after I spoke out, one reader changed her rating from a three-and-a-half to a five. Another agreed with me.
So, what makes a book five stars for you?
Is it likability? Satisfaction? Moral clarity? Or is it something else, maybe something that lingers, that makes you ask questions, even when you wish it wouldn’t?
Thanks for visiting! I’m an author and poet, drawn to stories about identity, the detours life throws at us, and the journey of finding yourself again. My second novel, Love and Other Incurable Ailments (Regal House Publishing), features a narrator who’s flawed—just like real people—but I hope you’ll enjoy getting to know her. Find it here: Regal House Publishing | Bookshop | Amazon | Barnes and Noble
