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This essay is the eighth in my new Inside the Story series, where I share the creative decisions, real-life influences, and writing philosophy behind my novels.
What Does a Villain Look Like?
When I say the word villain, what image comes to mind?
Perhaps someone with a cold stare and a threatening voice. Someone who delivers dramatic confessions and practically announces their wicked intentions. Think Snidely Whiplash with his black cape, elaborate mustache, and an unfortunate habit of making his intentions perfectly obvious.
We like villains who look like villains. They make the world easier to understand.
The trouble is that evil rarely reveals itself so conveniently.
People who cause serious harm may appear perfectly ordinary. They hold respectable jobs, make their neighbors laugh, attend church, and seem devoted to their families. They know how to be charming, generous, and helpful.
And they may reserve their cruelty for places where no one else can see it.
That's the kind of villain I wanted to create in my novel, What Remains After, through Virgie Clark and Gary Tremblay.
Not monsters from another world, but people readers could believe might live right down the road.
Why Believable Villains Need More Than Cruelty
A villain who snarls in every scene, mistreats everyone, and practically announces, "Hello, I'm the bad guy!" presents a problem for the writer.
Why would anyone trust this person? Why wouldn't the people around them recognize the danger? And why might a community defend someone whose cruelty seems so obvious?
To make Virgie and Gary believable, I needed to give them recognizable personalities, ordinary habits, private justifications, and public identities that could lead others to underestimate them.
Virgie works as a waitress, interacting with people every day without necessarily raising suspicion. She attends church regularly and has friends there. Gary works as a mechanic, maintains friendships, and functions within his community.
Neither behaves like a monster in front of everyone.
That's part of what makes them dangerous.
Virgie and Gary are fictional characters, not disguised portraits of particular people. I drew upon observations, reading, and imagination to create characters whose behavior would feel disturbingly plausible.
I didn't want readers simply to enjoy hating them.
I wanted readers to recognize that people capable of terrible cruelty don't always look different from anyone else.
The Public Face and the Private Reality
Someone who causes harm doesn't necessarily behave cruelly toward everyone.
In public, that person may be charming, funny, hardworking, generous, or well respected. In private, the same person may be controlling, manipulative, threatening, or abusive.
This contradiction can make it difficult for others to believe someone who discloses abuse.
"But she's always been kind to me."
"He would never do something like that."
"They seem like such a good family."
Yet one person's experience of kindness doesn't disprove another person's experience of cruelty.
Charm can also become a means of manipulation. Flattery, apologies, displays of generosity, and expressions of concern may help someone maintain a favorable reputation or regain another person's trust.
Cruelty doesn't always replace charm. Sometimes it recruits it.
Jesus tells us, "Do not judge by appearances, but judge with right judgment" (John 7:24, ESV).
That instruction challenges us to look beyond reputation and outward respectability. A person's social standing, religious involvement, or pleasant public manner cannot, by itself, establish the truth about their private behavior.
How People Justify the Harm They Cause
Virgie and Gary don't need to wake up each morning thinking, Today I will choose evil.
Human beings are remarkably skilled at explaining our behavior to ourselves.
A harmful person may insist they had no choice. They may blame the person they hurt, see themselves as the real victim, or justify their actions as necessary discipline or protection.
They may feel entitled to control others or convince themselves that their behavior is reasonable.
Ordinary selfishness, resentment, entitlement, cowardice, and the desire for control can become increasingly destructive when left unchallenged.
People don't necessarily become frightening by deciding to become villains. They become frightening through repeated choices that permit harm.
A character's history can help explain how those patterns developed.
Virgie's own experiences, for example, are important to understanding her character. But understanding someone's history isn't the same as excusing their behavior.
The harm Virgie and Gary inflict upon Beth and Otto remains their responsibility.
Compassion doesn't require abandoning accountability.
As a novelist, I want readers to understand my characters without asking them to excuse what those characters do.
Why Ordinary Villains Make Everyone Else's Choices More Understandable
Creating believable villains also helps explain the behavior of the people around them.
If Virgie and Gary were openly cruel every moment, readers might struggle to understand why others trust them, remain involved with them, or fail to intervene.
Abusive relationships can involve a confusing combination of affection, fear, threats, dependence, shame, apologies, and promises to change.
Communities can also become reluctant to acknowledge harm when the person responsible is respected or influential.
Family loyalty, religious authority, institutional reputation, fear of scandal, or the desire to avoid conflict can all affect how people respond.
Sometimes accepting the truth comes at a cost.
It may require someone to admit they were deceived, ignored warning signs, or trusted someone who caused serious harm. A family, church, or community may have to confront the possibility that it wasn't as safe as people believed.
Denial can become a shelter built around the offender.
This is why I think fiction should ask questions beyond the familiar: "Why didn't the victim leave?"
We should also ask why speaking up felt dangerous, why disclosure wasn't believed, and what made silence more comfortable for the people who could have intervened.
These questions matter in What Remains After, where the consequences of abuse extend beyond the people directly involved.
Why Small Details Can Be More Frightening Than Dramatic Villainy
As a writer, I don't always need violence or threatening speeches to communicate danger.
Sometimes a small detail is more effective.
An apology that quietly shifts the blame.
A smile that disappears when witnesses leave.
A threat disguised as concern.
Someone repeatedly correcting another person's recollection of events.
An act of kindness performed only when others are watching.
These moments can create unease because readers recognize that something is wrong before they fully understand what it is.
They also make characters more believable. Most people don't communicate every motive openly, and harmful behavior doesn't always arrive with a dramatic announcement.
Sometimes the most frightening thing about a character is how calmly they speak.
Why Writing Evil Honestly Matters
If we imagine harmful people only as monsters completely unlike ourselves, we may become less attentive when wrongdoing appears in ordinary circumstances.
A person can perform acts of kindness and still cause terrible harm elsewhere. Someone may be affectionate toward one person while treating another with cruelty.
Good actions don't simply cancel harmful ones.
The prophet Micah reminds us that God calls His people "to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God" (Micah 6:8, ESV).
Justice and kindness aren't opposing responsibilities.
God calls us to show grace, but grace doesn't require blindness. Loving our neighbors includes caring for those who are vulnerable, unheard, or inconvenient to defend.
That requires truthful attention.
It means being willing to listen carefully, examine evidence fairly, and resist the temptation to protect someone's reputation at the expense of another person's safety.
This is one reason I wanted Virgie and Gary to feel like ordinary people, not exaggerated villains.
I wanted readers to see how easily cruelty can hide behind familiarity, respectability, and the stories communities tell themselves.
Learning to See People Clearly
I didn't want Virgie and Gary to feel like villains manufactured for a comic book. I wanted them to feel like people who could walk through an ordinary Alberta town, exchange pleasantries with a neighbor, and return home to a reality no one else sees.
Their recognizability is what makes them frightening.
Evil isn't always spectacular. Sometimes it's ordinary, persuasive, self-justifying, and protected by people who would rather believe a comforting story.
That's one reason I believe fiction matters.
Stories can encourage us to pay closer attention, listen more carefully, and question our assumptions about who is trustworthy.
In Stories of Consequence, I'm interested not only in what harmful people do, but also in what happens when others excuse them, believe them without question, or remain silent.
Perhaps recognizing evil doesn't begin with learning to spot monsters.
Perhaps it begins with learning to see people clearly.
About What Remains After
If this essay has given you something to think about, I invite you to explore more of my website, paulinejgrabia.com, where I share reflections on storytelling, faith, human nature, and the choices that shape our lives. You can also discover my award-winning novel, What Remains After, a story of family secrets, trauma, forgiveness, and the possibility of healing through God's grace. And if you'd like to stay connected, consider subscribing to my newsletter for new essays, behind-the-scenes insights, and updates from my writing desk.
FAQs:
What makes a villain believable in fiction?
A believable villain has recognizable human traits, ordinary habits, personal motivations, and ways of justifying harmful behavior. Rather than behaving cruelly toward everyone, a realistic antagonist may present a respectable public image while concealing harmful behavior in private.
How can writers avoid creating caricatured villains?
Writers can avoid caricature by giving villains convincing personalities, social relationships, private justifications, and contradictions. Small details, such as manipulative apologies or threats disguised as concern, can communicate danger more effectively than exaggerated cruelty or dramatic speeches.
Why do some villains appear ordinary or respectable?
People who cause harm may also maintain jobs, friendships, religious involvement, and positive public reputations. They may treat one person very differently from another. Outward respectability doesn't necessarily reveal someone's private behavior or character.
Does a sympathetic backstory excuse a villain's actions?
No. A character's history can help readers understand how destructive attitudes or behaviors developed, but it doesn't eliminate responsibility for the harm caused. Understanding a villain's motivations isn't the same as excusing their choices.
Why might communities overlook or excuse harmful behavior?
Communities may struggle to acknowledge wrongdoing by someone they respect or trust. Family loyalty, religious authority, fear of scandal, institutional reputation, and the desire to avoid conflict can all contribute to disbelief or silence.
How are villains portrayed in What Remains After?
In What Remains After, Virgie Clark and Gary Tremblay have ordinary public identities while causing serious harm in private. Their characterization explores how cruelty can hide behind familiarity and respectability, and how the consequences affect Beth, Otto, and those around them.
Related Posts:
When I say the word villain, what image comes to mind?
Perhaps someone with a cold stare and a threatening voice. Someone who delivers dramatic confessions and practically announces their wicked intentions. Think Snidely Whiplash with his black cape, elaborate mustache, and an unfortunate habit of making his intentions perfectly obvious.
We like villains who look like villains. They make the world easier to understand.
The trouble is that evil rarely reveals itself so conveniently.