To accompany our spring 2024 issue (21.1), we have curated a folio on jealousy and envy. Reading Ravi Mangla’s story “Flavors of Tuscany” in particular inspired us to put together this feature. We initially called it just a “jealousy” feature, which describes what happens in Mangla’s story, but we then expanded it to cover the concept of envy. Though most dictionaries have accepted that jealousy and envy are used nearly synonymously in our culture, the Chicago Manual of Style says, “Jealousy connotes feelings of resentment toward another, particularly in matters relating to an intimate relationship {sexual jealousy}. Envy refers to coveting another’s advantages, possessions, or abilities {his transparent envy of others’ successes}.” For the most part, we follow that formulation of the terms.
Here is J. D. Harlock’s contribution to that folio:
Sympathy for the Devil: Garnering Sympathy for Your Envious Villains
To feel envy is human, to savour schadenfreude is devilish.
—Arthur Schopenhauer
In my private study one evening over a decade ago, I pored over John Milton’s Paradise Lost, prepared to loathe its villain, the ultimate enemy of humankind, Satan—only to realize that Milton had pulled off the impossible: he made me sympathize with the Devil.
From reading the Bible, I was already familiar with the narrative of the Fall, but I couldn’t believe I somehow commiserated with the personification of evil. It was hard not to feel sorry for Old Scratch, though. Despite his envy for Adam and Eve, his fall from grace was portrayed as pitifully as possible. I realized then that it is how our stories are told that elicits antipathy or sympathy from readers.
Of course, pulling this off with envious villains as vile as the Evil One is not easy. When a character is driven by one impulse, their writer has to work hard to create a compelling villain. To maintain reader sympathy for characters succumbing to the second-gravest of the seven deadly sins, a writer must craft them as complex characters, reframe relationships in their favor, or create commiserable circumstances.
Crafting Complex Enviers
Garnering sympathy for villains requires crafting a multifaceted character. A more nuanced portrayal ensures that characters are driven but not solely defined by their envy, which would make them impossible to sympathize with.
For example, tuning into Breaking Bad years after the show had left the zeitgeist, I had no preconceived notions about what the showrunners were going for with their neo-Western crime drama. When we first meet protagonist Walter White, he is the epitome of the down-on-his-luck everyman. In the pilot, the show pulls all the stops to make us sympathize with him by painting a pathetic portrait of an unfulfilled life marked by mediocrity. From his micromanaging wife, who has lost interest in their marriage, to his macho brother-in-law, who emasculates him publicly, to his terminal lung-cancer diagnosis that sets the events of Breaking Bad in motion even though he has never smoked a cigarette, we are manipulated into siding with Walter White in his rampage against the world. Then, with each passing episode, the show tests our willingness to tolerate his resulting moral decay. Walter’s envy manifests itself in ugly, sometimes psychotic ways, like when he rigs the car at a convenience store to explode . . . after its pompous owner cuts in front of him in line. And yet, Walter maintains my sympathies even after all the sins he’s committed because of how (un)well he was characterized at the start and how utterly fascinating his unusual downward spiral was.
Another method of deeper characterization is to imbue envious characters with charisma. Consider Jay Gatsby from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, who, despite the dubious nature of his obsession with Daisy Buchanan and the criminal methods he has chosen to pursue her, is sympathetic because his steadfast belief in and dedication to his grand ambitions, even in the face of an unattainable reality.
Writers can also emphasize the characters’ positive traits, usually by showing them engaging in acts of good. Counterbalancing their envy with admirable qualities makes their malicious behavior more tolerable—and more human, which helps evoke the complex emotional response required for us to think well of them. For example, Severus Snape from J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series is presented as revoltingly petty because he envies the protagonist’s father. Still, that trait is overshadowed by his loyalty and bravery in protecting Harry in the fight against Voldemort.
Most importantly, in crafting envious characters, it’s best not to glorify envy but explore it as a deeply human emotion that can lead to either destruction or personal growth, sometimes even both.
Reframing Envious Relationships
With villains driven by envy, sometimes the characterization of the envied is not limited to just that character’s personality and choices. Since envy is a relationship between the envier and the envied, how that relationship is framed determines who has our sympathies.
Revisiting David Fincher’s movie The Social Network as an adult after finishing business school, I realized that the dynamic between Facebook cofounder Eduardo Saverin and CEO Sean Parker wasn’t portrayed objectively. Since we are introduced to Sean from the envious perspective of Eduardo, we view Sean as a villainous interloper, a fast-talking narcissist with a hedonistic streak. Not only is he challenging Eduardo’s vision for the company but he is also threatening his friendship with the protagonist. However, as I rewatched the movie with a deeper understanding of the business world, I realized that Sean’s strategy, while antithetical to Eduardo’s conservative approach, is right for Facebook, motivated more by the potential for profit than personal disdain for Eduardo. Yet during the film’s events, Eduardo remains the more sympathetic of the two to me—not just because of his characterization but also because of how the film framed his relationship with the object of his envy, Sean.
Crafting an unappealing character as the object of the villain’s envy manipulates the audience’s sympathies; we believe that the envious character’s feelings may be justifiable or, at the very least, understandable. The envied need not necessarily be villainous in their own right. Good people, through no fault of their own, can find themselves in circumstances that require envy. For instance, in Peter Shaffer’s play Amadeus, Antonio Salieri envies Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, whose effortless genius contrasts with Salieri’s struggles with music. Salieri’s envy is relatable, as he grapples with why such a gift was bestowed by God upon Mozart, which leads to tragic consequences for both musicians. Depicting the envied as unworthy not only garners sympathy for the envious but compels readers to question the fairness of the situation, encouraging them to think critically about whether envy is ever justifiable.
Creating Commiserable Circumstances
Whether a villain’s envy stems from deep-seated insecurities, past traumas, or unfulfilled desires, establishing a scenario of adversity makes envious characters’ struggles more relatable and, in turn, more sympathetic. From his wife, who humiliates him at family functions, to his mother, who jokes that he was adopted from “gypsies,” Fredo Corleone from Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather movie series invites pity. Passed over for leadership of the Corleone crime family in favor of his younger brother, Fredo is hedonistic, cowardly, and incompetent in a life where weakness is unacceptable. Even though his distinctive traits make him the only personable member of the family, everything about his jittery mannerisms, incessant stuttering, and flamboyant yet unstylish clothing make him the laughingstock of the criminal underworld. Regardless, he emerges as the most sympathetic character in the franchise for me, even after he commits the most unforgivable sin in his line of work—going against the family.
Rewatching the first two movies recently, I realized that if this scenario had been depicted in any other manner, Fredo would not have been so sympathetic. In the first movie, the reason Fredo is passed over is self-evident; his resentment of that fact in Part II is clear, which makes his betrayal all the more tragic: it was out of not greed or pride but a need to be respected. In the series, Fredo remains sympathetic precisely because he is such a sad soul, in so far over his head, that you can’t help but feel sorry for him. Despite the seedy nature of his work and the unsavoriness of the world in which he lives, his failures in the criminal underworld aren’t career setbacks so much as situations where he’s let his loved ones down.
If you’d rather have their envy presented less maliciously, subjecting a character to envy through misunderstanding or another’s machinations can underscore vulnerability and desperation, shifting some blame away. In Les Misérables by Victor Hugo and the musical and movies based on it, Inspector Javert’s envy of former thief Jean Valjean fuels his unrelenting obsession with capturing him. As a result of his rigid moral code, Javert misunderstands Valjean, unable to comprehend that criminals are capable of reform. He is thus envious of the respect and love Valjean has received in his new life, which Javert believes is undeserved. The Inspector is less a malicious force and more of a tragic figure trapped in convictions and circumstances beyond his control.
Of course, crafting complex characters, reframing relationships in their favor, and creating commiserable circumstances for them is not for the faint of heart. After all, envy is such a vile emotion, and sympathizing with such envious villains may seem inconceivable. I once thought that too. I mean, what kind of man sympathizes with the Devil? Before reading Paradise Lost, I couldn’t have told you. On a reread, however, I realized that the key to garnering sympathy for your envious villain comes down to one simple question: how do we sympathize with the Devil in all of us?
J. D. Harlock is an American writer, editor, researcher, and academic pursuing a doctoral degree at the University of St. Andrews. In addition to their work at Solarpunk Magazine as a poetry editor and at Android Press as an editor, Harlock’s writing has been featured in Griffith Review, Strange Horizons, New York University’s Library of Arabic Literature, and the British Council’s Voices Magazine. You can find them on LinkedIn, Twitter, Threads, and Instagram.
