Decoding villains at an Emirates LitFest panel in Dubai

Novelists Annabel Kantaria, Louise Candlish and Ruth Ware, joined by a packed audience, dissected the craft of creating morally ambiguous characters. (Instagram)
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Updated 25 January 2026
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Decoding villains at an Emirates LitFest panel in Dubai

DUBAI: At this year’s Emirates Airline Festival of Literature in Dubai, a panel on Saturday titled “The Monster Next Door,” moderated by Shane McGinley, posed a question for the ages: Are villains born or made?

Novelists Annabel Kantaria, Louise Candlish and Ruth Ware, joined by a packed audience, dissected the craft of creating morally ambiguous characters alongside the social science that informs them. “A pure villain,” said Ware, “is chilling to construct … The remorselessness unsettles you — How do you build someone who cannot imagine another’s pain?”

Candlish described character-building as a gradual process of “layering over several edits” until a figure feels human. “You have to build the flesh on the bone or they will remain caricatures,” she added.

The debate moved quickly to the nature-versus-nurture debate. “Do you believe that people are born evil?” asked McGinley, prompting both laughter and loud sighs.

Candlish confessed a failed attempt to write a Tom Ripley–style antihero: “I spent the whole time coming up with reasons why my characters do this … It wasn’t really their fault,” she said, explaining that even when she tried to excise conscience, her character kept expressing “moral scruples” and second thoughts.

“You inevitably fold parts of yourself into your creations,” said Ware. “The spark that makes it come alive is often the little bit of you in there.”

Panelists likened character creation to Frankenstein work. “You take the irritating habit of that co‑worker, the weird couple you saw in a restaurant, bits of friends and enemies, and stitch them together,” said Ware.

But real-world perspective reframed the literary exercise in stark terms. Kantaria recounted teaching a prison writing class and quoting the facility director, who told her, “It’s not full of monsters. It’s normal people who made a bad decision.” She recalled being struck that many inmates were “one silly decision” away from the crimes that put them behind bars. “Any one of us could be one decision away from jail time,” she said.

The panelists also turned to scientific findings through the discussion. Ware cited infant studies showing babies prefer helpers to hinderers in puppet shows, suggesting “we are born with a natural propensity to be attracted to good.”

Candlish referenced twin studies and research on narrative: People who can form a coherent story about trauma often “have much better outcomes,” she explained.

“Both things will end up being super, super neat,” she said of genes and upbringing, before turning to the redemptive power of storytelling: “When we can make sense of what happened to us, we cope better.”

As the session closed, McGinley steered the panel away from tidy answers. Villainy, the authors agreed, is rarely the product of an immutable core; more often, it is assembled from ordinary impulses, missteps and circumstances. For writers like Kantaria, Candlish and Ware, the task is not to excuse cruelty but “to understand the fragile architecture that holds it together,” and to ask readers to inhabit uncomfortable but necessary perspectives.


Book Review: Things We Do Not Tell the People We Love

Updated 20 February 2026
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Book Review: Things We Do Not Tell the People We Love

It is always a pleasure to encounter a short story collection that delivers on every page, and British Muslim writer Huma Qureshi’s “Things We Do Not Tell the People We Love,” does exactly that.

Deliciously complex and devastating, the stories in this collection, published in paperback in 2022, are told mostly from the female perspective, capturing the intimate textures of everyday life, from love, loss and loneliness to the endlessly fraught relationships between mothers and daughters, friends and lovers.

Qureshi’s prose is understated yet razor-sharp, approaching her characters from close quarters with poignant precision. 

I found it particularly impressive that none of the stories in the collection fall short or leave you confused or underwhelmed, and they work together to deliver the title’s promise.

Even the stories that leave you with burning, unanswered questions feel entirely satisfying in their ambiguity.

Several pieces stand out. “Firecracker” is a melancholy study of how some friendships simply age out of existence; “Too Much” lays bare the failures of communication that so often run between mothers and daughters; “Foreign Parts,” told from a British man’s perspective as he accompanies his fiancee to Lahore, handles questions of class and hidden identity with admirable delicacy; and “The Jam Maker,” an award-winning story, builds to a genuinely thrilling twist.

Throughout, Qureshi’s characters carry South Asian and Muslim identities worn naturally, as one thread among many in the fabric of who they are. They are never reduced to stereotypes or a single defining characteristic. 

Reading this collection, I found myself thinking of early Jhumpa Lahiri, of “Interpreter of Maladies,” and that feeling of discovering a writer who seems destined to endure. 

Huma Qureshi tells the stories of our times— mundane and extraordinary in equal measure— and she tells them beautifully.