How do you know your story has the right protagonist? After analyzing over a hundred bestselling novels, I discovered that even famous writers struggled with this question. (Even if you’ve watched the video, check out the article below. At the end, you’ll find an interesting case study: what happens when your story doesn’t have a protagonist?)
In the first draft of Jurassic Park, Michael Crichton told the story through Hammond’s grandchildren. Early readers hated it. He rewrote the book twice, and those versions still didn’t work… until one reader suggested telling the story from an adult point of view. That did the trick.
So how do you choose the right lead for your book? It has nothing to do with their looks or cool backstory. There’s science behind this, and most writers don’t even know it exists. These are the four tests your character must pass to qualify for the lead role.
Test 1: Story Type Fit Test
The first question to ask is this: what kind of story am I telling? Every story follows a natural pattern, an archetype. Joseph Campbell described one of them in The Hero with a Thousand Faces: the Hero’s Journey. That’s just one of many. You’ll find descriptions of the major story types, with examples, in my writing guides.
Stories about ordinary people thrown into extraordinary circumstances have been popular for centuries. Think Gulliver’s Travels, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz. This archetype is called Fish Out of Water. Alice is just a Victorian girl with a vivid imagination; nothing remarkable about her until she tumbles into a world of talking rabbits and mad hatters. An ordinary protagonist becomes our eyes and ears in that world: they ask the questions we would ask, make the mistakes we would make, and react with the same bewilderment we’d feel.
The Hero’s Journey also benefits from a humble, likable protagonist. Tolkien’s genius was to make hobbits the heroes of The Lord of the Rings. Frodo would much rather enjoy a second breakfast than save Middle‑earth. His reluctance and eventual courage make him more compelling than a conventional hero like Aragorn.
A common misconception is that the protagonist must be “relatable” in the sense of ordinary and likable. Relatable doesn’t always mean ordinary. A skilled storyteller can make almost any character relatable, even the strange, the monstrous, or the morally ambiguous.
That brings us to the Superhuman or larger‑than‑life protagonist. Sherlock Holmes is brilliant, eccentric, and often abrasive; he’s not someone you’d invite for a pint, but his aloofness and intellect are precisely what make him fascinating. In a modern example, Amy Dunne in Gone Girl is calculating and morally ambiguous, yet her psychological complexity drives the novel’s success.
Some protagonists become beloved despite being unlikeable at first. Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind is selfish and manipulative, yet her determination makes her unforgettable. Lisbeth Salander in Stieg Larsson’s Millennium series is a brilliant, damaged hacker who’s hardly a people person, but her brilliance and ferocity make her riveting.
So, to pass this test, your protagonist must fit the story’s archetype. If you’re writing a Hero’s Journey or a Fish‑Out‑of‑Water tale, an ordinary, sympathetic protagonist usually works best. If you’re writing a Superhuman story, make your protagonist larger‑than‑life. Dial their strangeness and quirkiness all the way up.
Test 2: Personal Stakes Test
Margaret Atwood wrote,
In Paradise there are no stories, because there are no journeys. It’s loss and regret and misery and yearning that drive the story forward, along its twisted road.
No matter how flamboyant your characters are, readers will eventually tire of them if they don’t have skin in the game. Bestsellers aren’t built on memorable personalities alone; they endure because they evoke specific emotions. And nothing creates stronger emotional engagement than a character confronting a problem that matters deeply to them. Psychologists call this affective investment.
In The Hunger Games, Katniss carries heavier stakes than anyone else in the narrative. First she volunteers to save her sister. Then she must fight for her own survival. Later, as she becomes the reluctant symbol of a rebellion, her personal stakes fuse with the fate of an entire nation. Her journey is compelling because every step costs her something.
Or think back to Jurassic Park. Why does Dr. Alan Grant work better as a protagonist than Hammond’s grandchildren? With children at the center, the story becomes a straightforward tale of survival. Grant, however, has far more to lose. He has devoted his life to studying extinct creatures, and suddenly he’s standing in front of living dinosaurs, something beyond his wildest dreams. That miracle is precisely what puts him at the heart of the story’s dramatic question: Is it ethical to resurrect extinct species?
So, whatever genre you’re writing, ask yourself: Does your protagonist have personal, emotional stakes in the main conflict? If not, find a way to give them something meaningful to lose—or consider choosing a different protagonist.
Test 3: Thematic Fit Test
A gripping story depends on the synergy between its four essential elements: setting, theme, protagonist, and plot. If you’ve read my articles on the 4Ps method, you already know this. The protagonist who best serves your story is the one who embodies its central idea, the ethical dilemma or thematic question at the heart of the narrative.
Carrie is a good example. She carries every thematic element of Stephen King’s novel inside her: social isolation, shame, fear of her own body. These form her internal conflict, the demons she must confront. Add the external pressure of relentless bullying and you get a psychological drama whose emotional core lives within its protagonist. The themes of Carrie go beyond “latent powers.” A teenage girl facing this combination of internal and external pressures is the only protagonist who could make those themes resonate. King later said that Carrie taught him how to write female protagonists and how to trust stories that feel uncomfortable.
But we also have plenty of examples where a story suffers because the protagonist fails the thematic fit test. This often happens in film and TV adaptations that drift away from the thematic core of the source material.
A typical case is the decline of The Witcher TV adaptation. Geralt is the perfect protagonist for that gritty, morally ambiguous world. As a mutant and eternal outsider, he walks between worlds, trusted by none, needed by all. He embodies the series’ dramatic question: can a person remain moral in a world where every choice causes harm?
In Season 1, Yennefer also worked as a central character because she was portrayed as complex and conflicted, torn between her thirst for power and her desire to preserve her humanity. But by Season 4, much of that complexity had vanished. The writers sidelined the titular Witcher and placed Yennefer at the head of a league of mages in a simplified, cliché version of empowerment. Once the show drifted away from the character who embodied its thematic core, the spectacle—no matter how epic—suddenly felt hollow.
So in your own stories, ask yourself whether your protagonist embodies the main theme or ethical dilemma at the center of your narrative. If not, either recast the protagonist so they personify that theme, or choose a different protagonist who already carries it.
Test 4: Agency Test
Before we talk about agency, it helps to clarify the difference between protagonist, point‑of‑view character, and narrator. A single character can fill all three roles, but many stories split them. In Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff is the protagonist because his actions drive the plot. Nelly Dean is the point‑of‑view character because she witnesses the events. Lockwood narrates the opening chapters, then Nelly takes over as the primary storyteller.
To pass the Agency Test, the protagonist must be the one who makes the crucial decisions that lead to the story’s resolution.
Take Dune. Paul Atreides begins the novel with limited agency; he’s a passive participant as House Atreides takes control of Arrakis. But after the Harkonnen attack, Paul must step forward. He chooses to develop his abilities, ally with the Fremen, and lead an uprising. Other characters influence him, but he makes the decisive choices that determine the fate of Arrakis. That’s why Paul, not Jessica or Chani, is the correct protagonist.
A simple diagnostic question reveals whether your protagonist has true agency:
Does the character make the crucial decision that resolves the story’s main conflict?
If the answer is no, the climax risks feeling unearned. Imagine a detective hunting a dangerous criminal. If he finds the key clue by accident, or the villain suddenly surrenders, readers feel cheated. The resolution didn’t arise from the detective’s skills and choices. Likewise, if the story ends in a shootout and the cavalry arrives to save the day, the protagonist hasn’t earned the victory.
Agency is the spine of a satisfying climax. In short: the protagonist must earn the ending. If your protagonist passes all four tests, congratulations! What’s your favorite main character and why do you think they’re a great fit for their story? Let me know in the comments.
What Happens When You Don’t Have a Protagonist?
That’s a legitimate question to ask. Let’s imagine you have several candidates for the lead role. Do you have to choose one?
The short answer is: not necessarily.
Who is the protagonist of George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire? Jon Snow? Daenerys? Tyrion? Arya?
When Martin began writing A Game of Thrones, he intended Jon Snow to be the protagonist. But Martin is a discovery writer rather than an outliner, and instead of following a predetermined plot, he allowed the story to evolve organically. As a result, some characters took on a life of their own and expanded far beyond their original roles. Over time, the series evolved from a story centered on a single protagonist into an ensemble narrative.
If you’re a fan of TV shows such as Friends, The Office, or Brooklyn Nine-Nine, you already know that a story can work beautifully without a single lead character. One advantage of this approach is that readers or viewers are more likely to find a character they strongly identify with. A larger cast offers more points of connection.
That said, novels play by different rules than visual media. Bestselling books without a clear protagonist exist, but they’re the exception rather than the rule. The reason is psychological, and goal-tracking theory provides the explanation.
When readers open a novel, they want to go on an emotional journey. The human brain acts as a goal-tracking machine, so stories tend to work best when a single character’s wants and needs provide a clear focal point. A protagonist supplies that focus.
Frodo must destroy the Ring. Katniss must survive the Hunger Games and later help spark a rebellion. Alan Grant must use his expertise in palaeontology to survive Jurassic Park and protect those in his care.
Without a clear protagonist, readers must track multiple competing goals, which increases cognitive load. Sitcoms can get away with this because they’re relationship-centred. Instead of following a single overarching goal, viewers are engaged by the interactions within a social group.
In many episodic TV shows, the real protagonist is the group itself.
But imagine you had to write a novelisation of your favourite sitcom. Which character would you choose as the protagonist, and why? Pick any show with multiple main characters and let me know in the comments. I’m curious to hear your reasoning!
Leave a Reply