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Read an extract from the latest interview, and discover POSY SIMMONDS' Writing Method You can also browse previous interviews with top authors |
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| Interview with Posy Simmonds by Daneet Steffens Posy Simmonds lives in a gem of a late Georgian square, marvellously tucked away in a hidden corner of central London. The house, too, feels sanctuary-like, walls lined with books, a bevy of plates in glass shelves, dark wood floors warmed by rugs, the grandfather clock audibly marking time. A large window looks out onto the square, and passers-by catch Simmonds’ eye. ‘Ooh! ooh! Is that an embrace?’ she notes, mid-sentence, mid-interview, delighting in the pause in which a couple, indeed, embrace. ‘You do get a little vision through the window occasionally,’ she says, eyeing the blissfully unaware pair. ‘...And there they go. Simmonds is a delicately drawn woman, not unlike her characters. Petite, with reddish hair and grey-blue eyes, she exudes poise, civility and kind gentility – she also brews up a serious cup of coffee – but, unprompted and at the drop of a hat, out of her mouth tend to pop pitch-perfect impressions, of, say, school kids rough-housing on buses. Of course, Simmonds has had lots of practice at amusing others. From her long-running Weber comic strip to her Literary Life cartoons (one of which brilliantly depicts a Harry Potter-mad child boring a captive audience of adults to glaze-eyed death), from a swath of illustrated books for children to her Guardian serials, Gemma Bovery and Tamara Drewe – 20th and 21st Century updates of Flaubert’s Madame Bovary and Hardy’s Far From the Madding Crowd, both now cosily tucked on graphic novel shelves – the cartoonist and writer has been entertaining – and poking affectionate fun at – her audience for nearly forty years. Last year’s Drewe manages to satirise and embrace narcissistic writers, tolerant wives, posh rock star gits, sensitive men waiting patiently in the barnyard wings, disaffected yoofs and a woman who doesn’t quite know what she wants. While the main story (featuring protagonist Tamara, salt-of-the-earth Andy and writer and – let’s face it – busybody Glen), captivates, it is with the village kids – Casey, Jody and their crowd – that Simmonds’ astute observation and commentary is particularly apparent. The kids, left to their own devices and bored out of their heads, are a timely, canny touch that positively leaps off of the page. Simmonds neatly nails their language, their dreams, their despondency: ‘That was partly getting my bus pass, you see,’ she says, leaning forward as though sharing a secret. ‘On the top deck you don’t even have to eavesdrop; there’s this kind of circus that goes on when the kids get out of school. Sometimes I think it’s for the bus’ benefit, a performance. There they are, talking about what they’ve been drinking or how drunk they got or who they got pissed with or who they shagged – every other word is ‘fuck,’ and they know everything about everybody. They discuss Posh’s hair extensions – “I fink she looks basically crap, ya know,” – what Brad is doing with Angelina, all this stuff about Jennifer Aniston: “Well, ya know, she get her tits done.”’ Out of Simmonds’ mouth spill those dead-on imitations. ‘“He’s just not into her anymore, she should tell him to fuck off basically.” But they are just as vulnerable as kids ever have been,’ she says quietly, ‘being let down by adults, living terrifyingly awful lives. There are kids two squares away who hang about in the rain and drink and have nowhere to go. It’s not that different from village life. For the whole interview, read Issue 37 » Subscribe! |
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