Anu Kandikuppa‘s debut short story collection The Confines features 12 stories about women facing the cultural hierarchies and taboos with a razor-sharp eye into the human condition. Kandikuppa has spent most of her lif outside of the literary world, working as an engineer, a software developer, and an economics consultant. Since beginning writing fiction, her work has appeared in Colorado Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, New England Review, The Cincinnati Review, and Story.
We asked her to answer our recurring My Reading Life questionnaire so readers can discover the books that shaped her life.
What was the first book you were obsessed with as a child?
I was obsessed with Enid Blyton. I vividly remember discovering a treasure trove of Secret Seven books in a library when I was seven. I loved them—not just for the stories, but for their smell and the wide-open meadows and gorse bushes (what even was gorse?). Growing up in a hot, humid beach town in South India, her worlds felt impossibly exotic. I couldn’t get enough. I honestly believe I read every book Enid Blyton ever wrote, from Binkle and Flip to the Adventure series. I salivated over the descriptions of food—scones, jam, clotted cream, and potted meat, which sounded disgusting to vegetarian me but the kids in the book were eating it, how bad could it be? I was completely enamored with the culture that had colonized us for years.
What book helped you through puberty?
I grew up in India, where no one talked about puberty—what puberty? You just dealt with it. No one acknowledged changing bodies, except for goons on the street (heard of eve-teasing?). But those were also my biggest reading years, at least until I started college at fifteen and a half (not a typo—my dad advanced my age on my birth certificate). Since we weren’t assigned literature in school, I read anything I could get from the circulating libraries—mostly commercial fiction with a few award winners mixed in. Gone with the Wind, East of Eden, Armageddon, Shogun—every book by Leon Uris and James Clavell. The fatter the book, the better—I could stay absorbed for days. I also devoured plenty of cheesy romance—Mills & Boon, Barbara Cartland, and Georgette Heyer. I’d purloin my sisters’ copies and read them on the rooftop. Oh, Fabian, said Linda, as he snaked his hand across her belly.
What book do you think all teenagers should be assigned in school?
I didn’t go to school in the U.S., so I don’t know what’s typically assigned. But if I had to choose, I’d pick The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy for its stunning language and exploration of family, belonging, and memory. My daughter, who went to school here, suggests Atonement by Ian McEwan—and I think she has a point. I love that it challenges readers to question truth, perspective, and morality, essential skills for any teenager.
If you were to teach a class on Damn Good Writing, what books would make the syllabus?
I’d start with A House for Mr. Biswas by V.S. Naipaul and Woodcutters by Thomas Bernhard. Naipaul brilliantly captures the frustrations and tiny triumphs of his character’s life while being so funny, and Woodcutters is pure voice. The two together showcase a range of writing styles. I’d also include A Swim in a Pond in the Rain by George Saunders because it’s the best book on writing I’ve read—practical, humble, and deeply thoughtful. And I’d add Alice Munro and Lorrie Moore. Munro is a master of time, and Moore’s sentences are perfect—funny, cutting, and full of feeling. I think this mix would cover everything—voice, structure, character, humor, and making every word count. Likely student feedback: Instructor is well-meaning but unrealistic.
What books helped guide you while writing your book?
I wrote these stories over a long time, catching up on fiction after a long break while working as a consultant and engineer. So instead of influences, I’ll list the writers I keep going back to: Lorrie Moore for humor, Donald Antrim and Steven Millhauser for their language and sentences, Jhumpa Lahiri for her perfect plots, Alice Munro for the novelistic depth she brings to short stories. They all remind me of what fiction can do.
What books are on your nightstand now that you’re looking forward to reading next?
I usually read one book at a time. Right now, I’m reading Nesting by Roisin O’Donnell, about a woman trying to leave her abusive husband and start over. I was drawn to it because I often write about marriage, including its darker sides, and I’m always struck by how universal domestic strife is, from India to the West—and how similarly it plays out. I also just bought Ten Indian Classics, a collection of translated literature from the 6th century B.C. to the 18th century—my lit cred. I’ll see how far I get, but whatever I manage to read is sure to be enlightening.