Part 2 of this.
You are a priest or a man in authority over children, and you have been convicted for abusing children. Everyone in the novel sympathizes with you (except, of course, the cold unfeeling person whom everyone dislikes).
You are not racist (so you think, and the author believes you) but you think anti-racism goes too far. You are willing to stand up against political correctness, and everyone in the novel admires your bravery.
You are a woman who is good at her job. You are, of course, in love with your boss — or you are not, but want to marry him anyway.
You are a successful man, and you have long-term affairs with your underlings and are surprised when they (inevitably, and you should have seen it coming, you desirable intellectual hunk of success) want more. You are in love with a younger, beautiful, successful woman, whom you have not had sex with (or even kissed).
You own a flat that has a view of the Thames, and you live alone in it. You may not be as rich as some of the other people in the novel, but this demonstrates that you are successful.
You drive a Jaguar, even as you (and everyone of sense around you) dislike ‘expensive cars’. If your boyfriend’s Jaguar is not at hand, you will borrow your ex’s — but it has to be a Jag.
You can either tell the provenance of every piece of art in every (rich) home or office you visit in the course of your professional duties, or you wish you could and are ashamed of your lamentable ignorance.
You are a gay man. You are a failure in everything, including your love life. (Except if you’re the murderer, in which case you fail at eluding the very straight detective.)
You have a very strong sense of privacy and no friends at all except the people you work with.
You find yourself in a nursing home, school, or cottage. It is most likely by the sea, and the sea is more menacing than beautiful.
You were abused or neglected as a child, and you have never got over it… but you are now beginning to. Maybe your abuser wasn’t so bad after all.
You quote poetry (or even prose—fifty extra points if it’s poetry written by our marvelous hero) at the slightest provocation, or even at no provocation at all.