Few devices hook readers as effectively as the unreliable narrator. In crime fiction and psychological thrillers, this technique turns the act of reading into an investigation—forcing us to question not only what happened, but whether we can trust the person telling us the story. Often, the unreliable narrator is a likable, if confused, character who evokes empathy from readers.
What constitutes an unreliable narrator?
An unreliable narrator is the character who is telling the story, and whose credibility is compromised. This may stem from intentional deceit, psychological instability, memory gaps, or simple human fallibility. Humans are notoriously unreliable witnesses, even of their own stories. Maybe especially of their own stories. Those under emotional stress or when recounting dramatic events present what they see or think, not necessarily what is true. Add in possible mental illness, drug or alcohol use, and just plain denial, and the information which a character presents to the reader may be quite flawed.
How does an unreliable narrator support mystery and suspense fiction?
These genres thrive on uncertainty. When the narrator is biased, forgetful, unstable, or deceptive, every detail becomes suspect. This contributes to building suspense without artificial twists. It encourages characters to explore trauma, memory, and identity. Character traits are revealed through what’s omitted or distorted. The story unfolds, but how much of it can readers believe?
Once readers become aware that the narrator is unreliable, it challenges them to actively piece together the truth. The result can be a story that feels tense, intimate, and psychologically layered. Although the story can build toward the realization that the narrator is not presenting reality, that doubt is usually planted in the readers’ minds early.
Some popular examples of unreliable narrators
Margaret Atwood’s Alias Grace plays with ambiguity—Grace may be traumatized, manipulated, or simply lying. The novel’s tension comes from never fully knowing.
Alex Michaelides’ The Silent Patient features two layers of unreliability: Alicia’s silence and Theo’s increasingly questionable narration. The truth emerges only when both perspectives crack.
Paula Hawkins’ The Girl on the Train uses Rachel’s alcoholism and memory gaps to blur the line between witness and suspect. Her fragmented recollections become the mystery itself.
Gail Honeyman’s Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine presents Eleanor, who is in such deep denial about her traumatic past that the social worker who visits her regularly makes no attempt to disabuse her of her delusions.
Many of Margaret Yorke’s later novels are told from the point of view of an unreliable narrator.
Unreliable narrators don’t just hide information—they reshape the entire reading experience. By destabilizing our trust, they create stories that are immersive, unsettling, and impossible to put down. In crime fiction and psychological thrillers, that uncertainty isn’t a flaw. It’s the point.
