Why Do We Love The Unreliable Narrator?

The unreliable narrator.

They are some of the most compelling and complicated creations we read. If done properly, the reader is left with an icon to forever compare other narrators to.

You’ve been introduced to this concept in myriad books again and again over centuries of literature. These stories have changed over the years. What we’re attracted to as readers fluctuates; trends come and go. Tropes become popular and fall away. Short novels give way to massive tomes, which in turn give way to short novels. What’s new is old, isn’t that the saying?

When Gillian Flynn wrote GONE GIRL, she ushered in the unreliable narrator again after a few decades gap. I, for one, cheered. There is nothing I like more than a worthy unreliable narrator. They are the best kind of anti-hero.

What makes an unreliable narrator great is their own acknowledgment of their complicity. They are justified, they are innocent. Their crimes are done with both a humbled acknowledgement of illegality and a sense of entitlement. The message—you’d do the same way if given the choice—allows the character the ultimate justification of their actions.

And they all have an inherent charm. The anti-hero charm is the spider to the fly. They attract their victims, luring them in, and then find ways to justify their actions in ways that we believe them. Worse, we want them to succeed. We marvel at the train wreck of their actions. We identify with their foibles.

Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash

Most modern unreliable narrators lie to the reader. If they are unlikable, we root against them. In my opinion, the most effective unreliable narrators are crafted with such delicacy that we can’t help but root for them. It’s a tricky line, as almost all are criminals. They are the antithesis of the Byronic hero—they are the heroes of their own story, narcissists in the truest sense, and committing evil, not good. But somehow, some way, we are on their side. They are saving their victims from a worse fate; their justification is megalomanic in its proportions.

One example that always comes to mind is Humbert Humbert, in Vladimir Nabokov’s LOLITA. I recall reaching the end of that book and feeling utterly betrayed and shocked. To be honest, I think his self-loathing, combined with a sense of entitlement and savior complex, sparked my fascination with the psychological underpinnings of criminality.

Another fabulous example is Tom Ripley, Patricia Highsmith’s brilliant con man. She treats him with such nuance that we can’t help but root for him, in all his psychopathic glory. We understand him, his desire to fit in, to have a better life, and though he’s nothing to be admired, somehow, he becomes the ultimate anti-hero.

While we often root for the male anti-hero, female unreliable narrators are too often referred to as unlikable, which is a fascinating double standard. Women are expected to be nurturers; they are supposed to be soft and caring. When they are amoral and self-involved, committing crimes for their own reasons, it’s harder to connect with them. So when done well, when we do connect, they are utterly unforgettable.

Amy Dunne, from Flynn’s GONE GIRL, is a superb example of this. She openly admits to manipulating everyone around her—of doing everything to be seen as the “cool girl”—and embraces her sociopathy. Because of her honesty, her disdain for actual approval, we cheer for her as she enacts her revenge.

And of course, one of my all-time favorite unreliables is the second Mrs. De Winter, from Daphne Du Maurier’s classic REBECCA. She breaks the mold, and that makes her utterly captivating. As a reader, we don’t even know her name. Her journey from carefree ingenue to haunted, mad bride to stoic, plotting wife is sheer perfection. I was so entranced by this story that I wrote an homage in HER DARK LIES, taking the story to another surprising yet inevitable conclusion.

My own Catriona (KAH-TRINA) in LAST SEEN is a clever sociopath who is out for revenge but gets herself in way over her head. She is an antihero who finds the light at the end, who sacrifices her well-being to save others. She evolves in a way that many sociopaths cannot, committing crimes for the right reasons. She is justified. She faces off against a psychopathic oppressor and saves many in her efforts. She is an amalgamation of some of the greatest unreliables of all time.

What makes these characters stay with us, decades later? Why do we, as readers, continue to be charmed by these admittedly horrible people? I think we’ve all been face to face with a narcissist, a sociopath, a psychopath—and recognize the close call. The real aren’t nearly as compelling as the fictional. Perhaps that’s the talent of the author, more than the characters themselves. To render evil into sublime is a true talent.

Who are your favorite unreliable narrators?

A version of this essay appeared on Mystery Fanfare on August 11, 2025.

The Creative Edge is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.