Let's Talk Protagonists—Fitzgerald, Brooks, Malouf, and Lorca

Which character are you rooting for?

Several of my high school and college teachers covered the role of protagonists in fiction, but I didn’t think much about the concept for years. At work, I was writing articles, reports, and books on public opinion and public policy—non-fiction doesn’t depend on protagonists. I’ve always read novels for pleasure, but I was generally content to enjoy them without dissecting them.

All that changed, of course, when I began writing my own novel and became obsessed with my protagonist. Most fiction relies on a central character to bond with the reader, advance the plot, and win or lose the struggle. As Merriam-Webster explains, the word “protagonist” comes from the ancient Greek for “first struggler.”

Given my renewed interest in the topic, I was intrigued by author and editor Philip Kinsher’s recent blog on the distinctions between protagonists and main characters. As he points out, the words are often used interchangeably, and in some novels, the protagonist and main character are one and the same. But many authors take a different approach, and the results are often fascinating.

Kinsher uses F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby as an example. Nick Carraway tells the story, but Jay Gatsby pursues the impossible dream. Carraway is an astute, compassionate observer, but as readers, we attach ourselves to Gatsby’s "extraordinary gift for hope” and contemplate the meaning of his fall. To use Kinsher’s formulation, Gatsby is the “the driving force behind the story’s plot.”

Having read the book years ago, I’m not sure I would remember Nick Carraway clearly if I hadn’t seen (and heard) Sam Waterston’s performance in one of the Gatsby films. In my mind, Sam Waterston’s voice is Nick Carraway’s voice. The actor personified the character for me.

Kinsher’s Gatsby analysis reminded me of Geraldine Brook’s The Secret Chord which uses a similar narrator-protagonist divide. In this historical novel, the prophet Nathan chronicles the life of the Biblical King David. In fact, the book opens with the King ordering Nathan to make a history of his reign. Nathan is a humane, well-regulated man committed to the truth, a near perfect biographer. At key points, Nathan prods David to repent or reassess. But David is the decider. He battles and defeats Goliath, unites the tribes of Israel, pursues Bathsheba, has her husband killed, and despairs at the fate of his favorite son. David propels the story forward while Nathan writes it down and reflects on it.

The distinction between the protagonist and other main characters is not always evident. I’ve previously written about David Malouf’s Ransom which tells the intertwined stories of Achilles, the legendary Greek hero, and Priam, the king of Troy. This novel remains one of my all-time favorites. The opening chapter presents Achilles’s early life and his defeat of Priam’s son, Hector, in battle. Afterward, the Greek victor daily abuses and mutilates the Trojan fighter’s corpse. As Malouf describes it, Achilles “rages, shames himself, calls silently on a spirit that does not answer, and sleeps.” Priam doesn’t appear until some forty pages into the novel.

Achilles is better-known, and Malouf depicts him in detail. But the Greek hero is trapped in a recurring loop of impotent fury. It is Priam who alters the situation. The Trojan king decides to enter Greek-held territory and offer a ransom for the return of Hector’s body. He travels with a single driver, two black mules, and a wagon loaded with treasure—no guards, no retinue, none of the expected royal trappings. He puts his life at risk to retrieve his dead son. Without Priam’s audacious decision, Ransom would have no plot.

Giovanni Battista Cipriani, Achilles Besought by Priam for the Body of His Son Hector, Philadelphia Museum of Art

Kinsher offers three questions to help identify the protagonist:

• Who drives the story forward?

• Who changes the most during the course of the story?

• Who is the reader rooting for?

As you would expect, protagonists appear in many different guises: heroes; anti-heroes; winners; losers. Some have the power to shape events while others struggle against circumstances beyond their control. In many novels, the protagonist is readily apparent. In others, not so much.

Several years ago, I belonged to a book club that read and discussed Federico García Lorca’s extraordinary play, The House of Bernarda Alba. Written in 1936, the tragedy offers an abundance of complex female roles, including the matriarch, Bernarda Alba, her five daughters, and a wily family servant. The drama begins when the mother announces that the household will observe eight years of mourning following her second husband’s death: “Not a breath of fresh air from the street will be getting into this house. It’ll be like we’ve sealed up the doors and windows with bricks.”

It’s certainly reasonable to see Bernarda Alba as the protagonist—her name is in the play’s title, and she’s the one who issues the austere decree. It’s also hard to imagine anyone rooting for her. The Guardian’s Arifa Akbar describes her as “an almighty authoritarian, policing her five daughters’ virtue under the guise of protecting them.” The spellbinding Harriet Walter performed the role in a 2023 National Theatre production in London.

Harriet Walter in The House of Bernarda Alba at the National Theatre. Photograph: Marc Brenner

One book club member suggested that Adela, the youngest daughter, might be the protagonist because she rebels against the status quo, as many protagonists do. Adela sneaks out to meet with a local swain named Pepe el Romano. Someone else proposed Pepe as the play’s mover and shaker. He secretly sees Adela despite being engaged to Angustias, the eldest and wealthiest daughter. Talk about upsetting the apple cart. The Pepe nomination attracted me briefly, but I ended up rejecting it. The women in the household fight over him, but he has no speaking role. In some productions, he never appears onstage.

Readers don’t need to “correctly” identify the protagonist to appreciate a novel or play. Finding yourself engaged in the plot and the characters is far more important. But answering Philip Kinsher’s three questions about protagonists can be an absorbing exercise, especially when there are multiple candidates for the honor. Might be something to try the next time you’re discussing a novel with friends or book club mates.