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The Worst Protagonist in the Universe
There is one undeniable golden rule for creating a strong protagonist, a mantra that rings out across every school of creative writing: “They must be active.” An effective central character must possess goals and ambitions that form the backbone of the main plot, targets they strive to reach by the story’s end, whether the outcome is positive or negative. The characters drive the narrative; they give meaning and purpose to every event that unfolds within the storyline.
But what if the protagonist is just an ordinary British chap in his dressing gown, whose sole genuine ambition is to secure a decent cup of tea?
In 1979, Douglas Adams released The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, a science fiction masterpiece which, amidst all its comic brilliance, presented us with Arthur Dent. He is, without doubt, the worst protagonist if we stick to literary conventions. Arthur earns remembrance not through his courage or initiative, but through his sheer obstinacy in being the normalcy in a universe that is, by its very definition, absurdity unrestrained.
We dive into Arthur Dent’s journey, exploring how the canonical rules of complexity and purpose bend before his simplicity and inaction. Crucially, in doing this, Adams reveals the ultimate factor for creating a lasting, entertaining character: the overwhelming power of identification.
Complexity as Metaphor
To grasp how Arthur Dent works, first, we must deconstruct the notion of a “character.” Robert McKee argues that characters are metaphors. They are not real people—who, frankly, are often mundane. They are concentrated representations of the human condition. Our admiration for a hyper-realistic drawing rests not on the photo, but on the imitation of the photo. Therefore, we should not take the maxim that characters must act, speak, or behave exactly like real people literally.
Furthermore, when considering complexity, we encounter a common pitfall: mistaking shallowness for simplicity.
The shallow, one-dimensional character (like many found in slasher films) fails due to a lack of substance. However, the simple character—the one boiled down to a single operating mode, like many cartoon figures—can prove wonderfully entertaining. Their secret lies in the charm and charisma of their exaggerated personality, which makes them instantly recognisable and memorable, even if they lack deep psychological complexity.
The Pitfall of Simplicity
Another pitfall involves believing that complex characters are simply a heap of dimensions, personality traits, and layers. Screenwriters fail when they try to create overburdened figures that do not resonate with the audience or whose emotional layers receive insufficient time to develop.
Instead, complexity means contradiction. A truly complex character exposes an intrinsic duality. After all, it counts for nothing if a character has countless facets yet none generate the conflict that drives their motivations. We enjoy ruthless characters (like a cunning villain) because a tension exists between their wickedness and some empathic quality—be it a relatable motivation or even a visually compelling design.
This intrinsic duality captivates the audience. A well-constructed character is not a random patchwork quilt of traits, but a figure capable of leaving an emotional or intellectual impact on the viewer.
The Symbolic Counterpoint: Sauron
Next, before we fully immerse ourselves in Arthur Dent, we use the example of Sauron as the proof of the rule through exception: a character who operates purely through the absence of psychological development.
Sauron is absolute evil, the face of corruption. The villain has no psychological or emotional development. He exhibits no nuances, no internal conflicts; his ambition is nothing more than power. He is not complex in the sense of internal contradiction; his complexity stems from his influence.
The characteristics he imprints on the public are utterly captivating. His abstract, symbolic nature, his corrupting force upon the world, and even his ultimate defeat, representing the fall of evil, compose an image that lodges firmly in our minds. He acts as an engine for events, yet he is not a human being.
Here, then, lies the core question: if Sauron, the abstract and purely malevolent engine, functions through his symbolic strength in an epic world, how does Arthur Dent, the engine of non-action, operate within cosmic chaos?
Arthur Dent: The Perfectly Wrong Protagonist
Adams’s 1979 release of The Hitchhiker’s Guide showers us with a succession of events so absurd, eccentric, and comical. Without question, without the right character to guide our perception through the work, the whole thing would feel like an uncontrolled stream of silliness. For Adams, life is an absurdity we cope with each day.
Into this setting, we meet Arthur Dent, without doubt the worst protagonist any good story could ever boast—at least according to typical “protagonistic” conventions. What makes Arthur so special? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Arthur is not the most memorable hero in literature. He is, however, the main piece on the narrative’s chessboard; without him, the game in Adams’s work would checkmate in a few moves.
Inaction as Power
Arthur embodies passivity.
The story begins with him lying on the ground in a pathetic attempt to stop a bulldozer from demolishing his house to make way for a bypass. Soon after, an alien spaceship announces to humanity that they must destroy the planet because, regrettably, Earth lies in the path of an intergalactic bypass. Arthur has no sway over the bulldozer, and even less over an alien spacecraft.
He is a man so commonplace that it becomes eccentric. He shows no courage, no skill; he is completely clumsy. His attempts at action often meet with failure. Unlike heroes such as Bilbo Baggins, who acquire the necessary traits during their journey, Arthur simply ignores them. A decent cup of tea is all he truly desires.
Everything around him is so vast, extraordinary, and absurd that his very normality becomes the most unusual and subversive thing in the universe.
Realism, Cynicism, and Bafflement
Realism and cynicism mark Arthur’s reaction to most events. The character lives in a state of confusion throughout the entire story. With the introduction of every new element, we meet an Arthur who is incredulous, frustrated, and completely unsure what to do.
He does not adapt; he struggles constantly to understand that world, a fight that usually leaves him even more confused. His relationship with the universe is awkward because of his inability to deal with the unfamiliar, leaving him no option but to accept the next emerging lunacy.
The Antithesis of Purpose
Furthermore, one of his defining traits is his lack of purpose. Arthur holds one desire: not to get involved in any grand adventure, preferring instead to remain in his quiet, routine comfort zone. He constantly laments the reasons that forced him to travel the galaxy.
This lack of purpose makes him a passive being, hauled here and there, planet to planet, past to future, simply offering his sarcastic and ironic observations. He is the exact opposite of a hero. He is, in effect, what we call an anti-hero: an antithesis of the conventional, possessing a unique, original charm.
If we learn that characters need traits “A” or “B” (to be active, contradictory, ambitious, etc.), why, then, does Arthur Dent work so well in his story?
The Mirror in the Chaos
The answer rests in the one thing Arthur Dent carries: identification. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is a cosmic madness that becomes utterly relatable.
Just like Arthur, we find ourselves lost amid a torrent of uncontrollable, meaningless, and absurd events. We face surprises that are, for the most part, unpleasant or impertinent. Arthur is an ordinary person with nothing exceptional to offer the world. Again, like us, he is dragged along by the megalomaniacal ambitions of another (represented by Zaphod, who seeks the answer to the meaning of life).
Our lives are, in part, a struggle to resolve problems we never asked for or sought. We find ourselves constantly lost on some road, hitchhiking our way to the next destination. Our goals only remain grand until we turn the page, when they begin to encroach upon our comfort, and we end up in the cemetery of the pretentious.
The Chasm Between the Guide and Reality
Arthur mirrors the common man thrust into this journey, knowing nothing, forced to learn how to cope with countless challenges. The most he has is a guide: an infinite encyclopedia, as confusing as its content, but which at least technically explains a few things. That is what we have: so many guides, so many tutorials, manuals on how to succeed in life and overcome our dilemmas.
Crucially, sooner or later, we realise a chasm exists between the manual and reality. Have you noticed the amusing fact that every YouTube tutorial works perfectly, but only on YouTube?
Moreover, the people around him—all eccentric—seem to handle the world with ease. They appear to be making plans, accomplishing things, tackling difficulties with pure normalcy.
The Intimate Journey
Arthur is not human, because no human would react with such frugality if they were travelling on a spaceship capable of going anywhere in the universe. However, he stands as the sublime representation of the simple human being facing chaos. He occupies a dangerous, insensitive environment where nothing matters or seeks to make sense. His lack of a plan to save the world, and his desire simply to find a quiet state, defines the character within us. Arthur echoes our frustrations and provides an inexhaustible source of humour and wisdom about the human condition.
We hitch a ride on this road filled with unexpected challenges and uncertainties. We only have the option to enjoy the strangeness of the landscape and the opportunities it gives us.
Remember: when creating a character, ensure that, however simple they appear, they are not just taking a trip through the galaxy, but undertaking an intimate journey through us. Despite the many guides available, you alone know the right character for your story.
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy remains my favourite science fiction work and is my perennial recommendation for those who have yet to read it.