It’s so important that all the main characters in Artemis Fowl are morally imperfect.
We often underestimate young readers. We assume they need clear-cut heroes and villains, good guys in white hats and bad guys in black. But Artemis Fowl doesn’t talk down to its audience. It introduces kids to a world where even the “good” characters can lie, lash out, make selfish choices, or fall short of their own ideals.
Artemis himself begins the series as a villain. Not a misunderstood antihero or a prankster with a heart of gold, but an actual, ruthless mastermind who kidnaps someone and threatens their life for ransom. That’s a wild place to start a protagonist’s arc.
As the series progresses, Artemis isn’t magically redeemed. He chooses to change. He learns empathy, connection, and responsibility. He falters, backslides, makes mistakes, but he keeps trying. For a kid reading that, it sends a powerful message: your past doesn’t lock you in. You can grow. You can do better.
Even Holly Short, arguably the moral compass of the story, isn’t portrayed as flawless. She’s stubborn, impulsive, and quick to anger. Yes, she’s brave, loyal, and principled, but she also struggles with trust, lashes out when cornered, and pushes back against authority, even when that authority isn’t the source of the problem. She’s complex, and that complexity makes her feel real. For young readers, especially those who are often told that girls have to be perfect to be taken seriously, Holly’s flaws aren’t just refreshing, they’re empowering.
Then there’s Butler, Mulch, Foaly, and Root. Each of them has their own blend of virtue and vice. Butler is stoic and loyal, but he follows orders without always asking if they’re right. Mulch is selfish and cowardly, but he’s also clever, hilarious, and capable of unexpected bravery. Foaly is brilliant and insightful, but smug and petty too. Commander Root is tough and principled, but quick-tempered and resistant to change.
In other words: they’re human. (Or dwarf. Or centaur. Or elf. You get the idea.)
That’s what makes this kind of representation so valuable in children’s literature. It’s not just entertaining, it’s instructive. It models resilience, growth, and accountability. It teaches that morality isn’t a fixed identity but a series of choices you make every day. Mistakes are part of the story, not the end of it.
It also shows that relationships can be complicated. Holly and Artemis don’t start as friends. They start as captor and captive. But over time, respect grows. Trust is earned. Loyalty forms. It’s messy and earned and full of moments where they disagree or fail each other, and that’s what makes it meaningful.
That’s exactly what makes them perfect for the audience they’re written for. Kids don’t need stories that tell them how to be flawless. They need stories that show them how to be human.
And then my mortal enemy Kenneth Branagh took one look at all that rich, complicated, morally gray character work and said, “Nah, that’s not interesting,” and proceeded to hate-vomit out that movie adaptation. Yes, this has secretly been a rant about the movie. Surprise.
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