Three Doors, Three Worlds: A Journey Through Storytelling
At Wordnama, our monthly book club dedicated to short fiction and book discussions, we’ve spent the past three months immersed in three wildly different but deeply compelling stories. From the bleak border of war in Saadat Hasan Manto’s The Dog of Tithwal, to the crumbling dread of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher, and the surreal satire of Etgar Keret’s Lie Land—each story opened a door to a distinct world and a unique form of storytelling.
This trio of tales sparked some of our most thought-provoking discussions yet—touching on themes of human absurdity, psychological decay, and the elusive nature of truth. If you’re looking for a rich, contrasting reading experience, I highly recommend exploring these three stories this coming month. And as always, feel free to read along and reflect with us.
Discussion links are available at the end of this post.
“Lieland” by Etgar Keret
“Lieland,” a short story by Israeli writer Etgar Keret, delves into the consequences of habitual lying through its protagonist, Robbie. The narrative begins with Robbie experiencing a dream about his deceased mother, who expresses boredom in the afterlife and requests a gumball from him. This dream prompts Robbie to recall a lie he told about a paralyzed dog, among many other fabrications throughout his life. Intrigued, he visits a place called “Lieland,” a surreal realm where all his past lies have materialized into reality. In Lieland, Robbie encounters the very characters and scenarios he fabricated, such as the paralyzed dog and other figments of his imagination. This confrontation forces him to reflect on the impact of his dishonesty. The story reaches a turning point when Robbie meets Natasha, another individual whose lies have manifested in Lieland. Together, they contemplate the nature of their falsehoods and the possibility of creating more positive, harmless lies in the future. His lies still weigh heavily on him. It’s almost equivalent to sinning. Perhaps that’s also why he lacks the courage to manifest the reality of marrying Natasha in real life. In the “lie land,” it’s safe, easy, and convenient, a space where he knows his truths are guaranteed to manifest without resistance.
The central theme of “Lieland” revolves around the tangible consequences of lying. Keret illustrates that lies, regardless of their perceived insignificance, can accumulate and create a complex web that one may eventually have to confront. The story suggests that while lies might serve as convenient escapes or solutions in the short term, they have the potential to manifest in unforeseen ways, compelling individuals to face the realities they’ve fabricated. Additionally, the narrative touches on themes of accountability, the blurred line between reality and fiction, and the human tendency to fabricate stories to navigate life’s challenges.
Setting the Stage: Cigarettes, Childhood, and Coping
Robbie’s mother’s casual request to buy her a pack of cigarettes reminds us of a time when it was normal, even expected, for children to run errands like buying “king-size Kents,” a popular cigarette brand in the mid-to-late 20th century.
This one detail roots us in a particular socioeconomic and cultural backdrop. It paints Robbie’s mother as a woman hardened by circumstance, perhaps dependent on smoking as a coping mechanism. It also reflects Robbie’s upbringing in a financially struggling household—where navigating adult issues at a young age may have driven him to find refuge in small, convenient lies.
Lying, then, became a form of survival.
“What if your lies came to life?”
Etgar Keret’s short story “Lieland” begins with this unsettling premise—and ends with a deeper, more introspective question: What happens when the lie becomes more comforting than the truth?
The Lies We Wear: Black-Tie Lies and Lies That Steal
Keret distinguishes between “black-tie lies”—polished, socially acceptable deceits—and “lies that could steal,” ones that rob others of joy, trust, opportunity, and sometimes even innocence.
Take Robbie’s lie about the paralyzed dog. On the surface, it seems harmless. But in Lieland, where every lie is given form, it becomes a haunting reminder of the emotional weight he has carried—and inflicted.
We are reminded that a lie can be a performance, dressed up in a tuxedo, or a theft, robbing someone else of a moment, a truth, or a dream.
In essence, “Lieland” serves as a metaphorical exploration of the landscapes our lies can create and the inevitable reckoning with the truths we’ve distorted.
The Dog of Titwal is a short story set on the India-Pakistan border, where soldiers from both sides face each other on identical hills, in a largely uneventful and routine conflict. Amid this tense yet stagnant standoff, a stray dog wanders into the Indian camp. Jamadar Harnam Singh ties a note around its neck, declaring it an Indian dog named Jhun Jhun, knowing it will cross over to the Pakistani side.
The Pakistani soldiers rename it Shun Shun and claim it as theirs. The dog continues to move between the two camps, soon becoming a symbol of mockery and misplaced nationalism. Suspicion and irritation rise. One day, as the dog returns from the Pakistani side, both camps open fire on it, ultimately killing it. Jamadar Harnam Singh shrugs off its death as meaningless, saying the dog “died a dog’s death,” while Subedar Himmat Khan from the other side mourns, calling it a martyr.
I believe that to analyze the story effectively, we must first understand its context—the setting in which it was written. It was when one of the soldiers called the dog a ‘refugee’ that I felt compelled to research the background of the story.
The story was written soon after the 1947 Partition of India. Millions were displaced, crossing borders between the newly formed India and Pakistan. People were often labeled as “ours” or “theirs” based on religion, not identity.
I think, in that sense, the dog being called a refugee mirrors those displaced people—stateless, nameless, and caught between opposing sides.
Just a quick note before we begin—while we might feel inclined to draw parallels to current events, let’s try to stay rooted in the context in which The Dog of Tithwal was written, because the story has its own historical and emotional setting.– post – partition, a very specific time in history that shaped Manto’s voice and purpose.
The “India Zindabad” Moment – Why does the dog freeze?
There’s a scene when the dog, enjoying a cracker, hears a soldier shout “India Zindabad!” (Long live India), and instead of reacting with joy, it freezes, and tucks its tail. Harman Singh laughs and says, “Why are you afraid of your own country?”
The interpretation could be that it reacts not as “Indian” or “Pakistani,” but as an animal afraid of aggression.
→ It might show how ideologies don’t make sense to those not caught up in them.
The futility of war could be the heart of Manto’s message. The dog, voiceless and harmless, is caught in the crossfire only because he crossed imaginary boundaries. Even in death, he becomes the subject of sarcastic remarks – one side calls it martyrdom, the other says he dies a dog’s death. The contrast reflects the meaningless glorification and casual cruelty often present in war. It highlights how even something as innocent as a dog can become a symbol, then a target, all to maintain the illusion of war.
The war also breeds an emotional numbness in soldiers. The soldiers are resigned to their own deaths or have become emotionally detachedfrom it and therefore become indifferent to the death of the dog. For a soldier, death is always close, lurking quietly in the background, impossible to ignore or escape. There’s no reverence attached to it and therefore, they come across as unsympathetic or even indifferent toward the dog’s suffering. It reflects how war affects people, turning them numb even to the loss of innocent life. So for me, that casual attitude toward death adds another layer to the story’s commentary—not just on war, but on the emotional cost it exacts on those who live in its shadow.
One of the most touching layers of the story is its quiet nostalgia. When the soldiers hum old folk songs or tunes from back home, it’s a reminder that beneath the uniform, they’re still human—connected to their memories, families, and culture. These small, intangible things—songs, memories—become their emotional anchor in a life that’s otherwise harsh and detached. Manto brings this out subtly, but beautifully. It shows that even though soldiers may have accepted death as part of their duty, their hearts still long for the world they left behind.
The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allan Poe is a gothic short story that follows an unnamed narrator who visits his childhood friend, Roderick Usher, at the Usher family mansion. The house is eerie and decaying, almost as if it has a life of its own.
Roderick is suffering from intense psychological distress, and his twin sister, Madeline, is gravely ill. When Madeline apparently dies, Roderick buries her in the family vault beneath the house. However, it turns out she was buried alive. She reappears, leading to both her and Roderick’s death in a final moment of horror.
As the narrator flees in terror, the mansion itself collapses, symbolizing the literal and figurative fall of the Usher family line. The story blends elements of madness, decay, and the supernatural to explore themes of fear, isolation, and the power of the human mind.
The story reminds me of another tale and the only other story I remember of Poe called The Cask of Amontillado. It’s about a man who tricks his enemy into going down into an old underground burial tunnel/vault and then traps him there forever.
A classic whodunit set in a country manor, The Murder Game by Tom Hindle delivers modern twists with old-school charm.
Book Review: The Murder Game by Tom Hindle
A Modern Whodunit with a Classic Twist
Every now and then, a book promises to take you back to your reading roots. The Murder Game by Tom Hindle did just that for me. Right there on the cover, it claims Hindle is the “new heir to Agatha Christie.” Naturally, I was intrigued. After all, I spent many of my school days devouring Nancy Drew mysteries. Somewhere along the way, though, I drifted away from the murder mystery genre—caught up in short stories, romance fiction, and everything in between. You know how it goes!
But this one… this one caught my eye. I won’t say it was unputdownable (in fact, I had to push myself to keep going at times). Still, I’d challenged myself to finish it before our book club meet, and I’m glad I did. It turned out to be a rewarding read.
The Premise
Set in a classic country manor, The Murder Game revolves around—yes, you guessed it—a murder that happens during a game night. It’s everything you’d expect from an Agatha Christie-style whodunit but with a modern flavor. A closed environment, a cast of suspicious characters, hidden backstories, and a killer on the loose.
What Worked for Me
One of the first things I appreciated was the language. Hindle keeps it simple and accessible—no heavy prose or complicated narratives to wade through. And as someone who mostly reads Indian and American novels, I found the British phrases and idioms refreshing. They gave the story a distinct charm and authenticity.
The second half of the book was where things really picked up. As you dive deeper, you uncover the tangled backstories of the guests. Suddenly, everyone seems tied together in unexpected ways. And just when you think you’ve got it figured out—bam! A second murder takes place. Right under everyone’s noses, when they’re all supposed to be in the same room. That twist had me sitting up, thinking, “Wait, who wasn’t there? Who could’ve slipped out without anyone noticing?” Classic misdirection. Cleverly done.
What Didn’t Work So Well
The pacing, especially in the first half. I found myself 250 pages in, still waiting for things to really happen. If you prefer fast-paced thrillers, you might find it a bit slow going in the beginning. But hang in there—the payoff is worth it.
Final Thoughts
If you enjoy classic murder mysteries where you get to play detective, The Murder Game is a solid pick. It’s not flawless, but the satisfying conclusion makes up for the slower start. Think modern Agatha Christie vibes—perfect for a cozy weekend read, preferably with a hot cup of tea in hand.
The Jaipur Literature Festival (JLF), held from January 30 to February 3, 2025, at Hotel Clarks Amer in Jaipur, is one of India’s most renowned literary festivals and a globally celebrated event. It brings together writers, thinkers, and speakers from around the world, offering a melting pot of ideas, storytelling, and intellectual discourse.
These platforms provide a unique opportunity to engage with literature, culture, and communication at its finest.
Attending JLF with a fellow Toastmaster added an entirely new layer to the experience. We weren’t just absorbing the content of the sessions—we were actively dissecting the speakers’ communication styles, analyzing how they articulated their thoughts and presented themselves on stage.
Take Manu S. Pillai, for instance. A historian known for his works like The Ivory Throne, Pillai’s expertise in history was undeniable, and the depth of his knowledge was remarkable. However, the sheer volume of information that he effortlessly shared at once, felt overwhelming at times, and the rapid delivery sometimes made it difficult for those unfamiliar with the subject to fully absorb and process everything.
In contrast, Vayu Naidu, a storyteller and novelist, had a more elegant, engaging style. Her storytelling was immersive, drawing listeners in and making them feel compelled to pick up her book. Watching these speakers made us realize how much the way we present ourselves can influence whether our audience is drawn in or left behind.
Shashi Tharoor, an author and politician known for his eloquence, lived up to expectations with his signature charm. The moment he stepped onto the stage, the audience erupted with excitement, occassionally even overshadowing the presence of Ikigai co-author Francesc Miralles.
However, the moderator handled the situation with remarkable finesse. Sensing the audience gravitating more toward Tharoor, she swiftly balanced the energy by acknowledging both speakers equally, ensuring Miralles wasn’t overshadowed.
Her ability to pick up on the room’s vibe and adjust accordingly was a masterclass in moderation—a perfect example of how a good moderator ensures balanced and engaging discussions, making every speaker feel valued and every conversation more wholesome.
Jaipur Literature Festival
Andrew Hogan, editor of the London Review of Books, was another standout speaker. We appreciated how he fielded questions—not just answering them generically but engaging deeply, elaborating with examples, and substantiating his responses with personal experiences. He ensured that every interaction was insightful, leaving the audience with something valuable to take away.
Jassa Ahluwalia, a British actor and writer, was one of the younger and more dynamic speakers. He began his session by playing an Instagram clip before launching into his speech, a brilliant way to capture attention and set the tone for his presentation. It was a reminder that how a speaker opens their talk can set the stage for the entire session.
Sudha Murthy, an author and philanthropist, in her usual heartwarming style, proved once again why she has such a devoted following. Her storytelling, particularly appealing to children, was effortless yet impactful. Her matter-of-fact responses and deep humility resonated with the audience, proving that authenticity and relatability can be just as powerful as eloquence.
When Ira Mukhoty spoke about The Lion and the Lily: The Rise and Fall of Awadh, she didn’t just recount historical events—she brought them to life. Instead of relying solely on words, she used a set of slides with *vivid images*, helping the audience see the world of Awadh, not just hear about it.
This technique is a powerful tool for any speaker. Why? Because visuals create an *instant emotional connection*. They allow listeners to relate to characters, settings, and events, making history feel like a story unfolding before their eyes.
Attending a literature festival with a fellow Toastmaster isn’t just about enjoying great conversations—it’s about sharpening our communication instincts.
Observing these speakers made us reflect on our own speaking styles, reinforcing that a great speech isn’t just about knowledge but also about how it’s presented. Speaking and writing are deeply intertwined, and as we refine one, we elevate the other.
After being published on various platforms and releasing my book, I have come to realize that the literary world has room for all kinds of writing. Every voice, every style, and every narrative can find its place and its readers.
My love for storytelling took root during my college years. While my reading mostly revolved around newspapers and magazines as a media student, I discovered the joy of writing through blogging. Blogging platforms were just emerging then, and I shared this journey with my sister. Writing for an audience – even a small one – was exhilarating and laid the foundation for my storytelling voice.
Yet, I can’t help but feel a tinge of guilt for not having read or written much during the first eight or nine years of my marriage. Those years were spent navigating the complexities of a new phase of life and professional commitments.
However, I believe I’ve made up for lost time. Despite the demands of marriage and motherhood, I rediscovered my love for storytelling, fueled by the encouragement of my kids and the unwavering support of my family.
My first foray into storytelling – My documentary ‘Adrashya Nari’ was awarded silver for the best film at Usha Pravin Gandhi College, Mumbai.
My father receiving the award on my behalf, from none other than Mr. Amir Khan.
In hindsight, my children played a pivotal role in reigniting my passion for literature. The bedtime stories I read out to them (My elder one, now 13, still enjoys listening to me read out stories—a tradition that continues to bring us closer), inspired me to read more, and sometimes, when I was too tired to read, I would weave tales for them—some humorous, some mundane, and a few that stayed with me, urging me to put them down on paper. This habit gradually transitioned into more structured writing, leading to short stories, personal essays, and eventually my first book, Grandma in the Stars.
Initially, I doubted my ability to create rich imagery and nuanced narratives, especially since my early years as a journalism student had leaned more toward reading newspapers and magazines than novels. However, the support and feedback from readers and friends reaffirmed that storytelling isn’t just about aesthetic finesse. It’s about engaging the reader, evoking emotions, and resonating with their experiences.
Today, I am more deliberate with my time. After a fulfilling nine-year academic career, during which I also served as a department head, I have deliberately scaled back my professional commitments to focus on strengthening my voice as a writer, driven by an enthusiasm I never felt before!
Through this journey, I’ve learned that the literary world is vast and inclusive. It accommodates a spectrum of voices, and there are readers for every style and preference as i mentioned earlier. While my writing may appear straightforward compared to the works of widely read and accomplished authors, the recognition and awards I’ve received for my storytelling remind me that every voice matters.
As Anne Lamott beautifully puts it, “You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” This quote resonates deeply with me, reminding me that authenticity is the cornerstone of storytelling. It encourages me to continue sharing my stories with the world, confident that they, too, can inspire, engage, and resonate with readers.
Discover storytelling techniques inspired by ‘Because of Winn-Dixie’—crafting tales with heart, simplicity, and emotional depth.
Kate DiCamillo’s 2000 children’s novel, “Because of Winn-Dixie,” is a heartwarming tale of India Opal and her dog, Winn-Dixie. This simple yet engaging story captivates young readers with its gentle emotional turns and accessible narrative.
The book’s charm lies in its conversational American dialogue and a lean cast of characters, lending a breezy quality to the storytelling. DiCamillo masterfully develops her characters through natural conversations and subtle descriptive touches.
Set against a backdrop of small-town America, the story’s beauty shines in its simplicity.
These are the techniques used to pen this simple yet adorable tale –
Imparting Lessons Through Atmosphere and Arrangement
A pivotal scene at Gloria Dump’s cottage exemplifies this: trees adorned with colorful crepe paper and candlelit paper bag lanterns transform a humble yard into a magical setting. While party planning can be daunting, “Because of Winn-Dixie” emphasizes the true essence of celebration – togetherness and joy, rather than extravagant displays.
DiCamillo skillfully anchors her narrative within four primary settings: India’s home, the church, the garden, and the library. Through these familiar spaces, she explores complex emotions with remarkable simplicity.
Symbolism
The story’s genius lies in its ability to translate abstract feelings into tangible sensory experiences, making them accessible to young readers. A prime example is the “litmus lozenge” – a candy that evokes the taste of sorrow:
The librarian shares this unique candy, created by her great-grandfather after losing his family in war. Overwhelmed by grief, he channeled his emotions into confectionery, producing a lozenge that allows each taster to experience melancholy in their own way.
This clever device serves multiple purposes:
It piques children’s curiosity about the nature of sorrow.
It introduces the concept of mindful eating, linking food with emotions.
The story demonstrates how people process and express feelings differently through the symbolic use of Litmus Lozenges – a unique candy with a bittersweet history:
The Candy’s Effect on Different Characters
When various characters taste the Litmus Lozenges, each experiences their own personal form of sorrow:
Sweetie Pie instantly recognizes the feeling of longing for a pet
Amanda is overwhelmed by grief for her drowned brother Carson
India Opal tastes the absence of her mother
Miss Franny reveals that sorrow is actually the secret ingredient, explaining how during wartime, people sought these candies specifically to help them access and release their buried grief.
The Litmus Lozenges serve as a tangible way to experience and understand abstract emotions.
They demonstrate how taste and memory can be powerfully linked.
The candy becomes a tool for characters to connect with their deeper feelings.
Opal compares missing her mom to the feeling of probing an empty space with your tongue after losing a tooth. This metaphor effectively captures the experience in a relatable way for the target age group.
Using simple comparisons to interpret complex emotions is a beautiful way to teach children empathy and identify their vulnerabilities.
The Father-Daughter Dynamic
The dynamic between India Opal and her father (known as “the preacher”) reveals another layer of processing grief:
When Opal asks about her mother, she carefully observes her father’s physical response (lowered chin, hunched shoulders)
Opal likens her father to a turtle, noting how he withdraws into himself like a turtle pulling into its shell when the topic of her mother comes up
This metaphor, seen through a child’s eyes, helps young readers understand how adults might protect themselves from emotional pain
The scene demonstrates:
How children can be perceptive to adults’ emotional cues
The way parent-child relationships can deepen through shared vulnerability
How being honest about grief, even when difficult, can strengthen family bonds.
Overall, this story is a must-read for children aged seven and up—and an engaging experience for adults. It beautifully explores the inner workings of human emotions, offering a refreshing change from the typical talking animals, folklore, or action-packed adventure tales filling bookstores today.
