‘Pull the right lever and kids laugh like drains’: Andy Griffiths on his comedic formula

Each week, Benjamin Law asks public figures to discuss the subjects we’re told to keep private by getting them to roll a die. The numbers they land on are the topics they’re given. This week he speaks to Andy Griffiths. The children’s author, 63, has written 40 books, is published in more than 35 countries and has sold 13 million copies in Australia and New Zealand alone. His latest novel is You And Me And The Peanut Butter Beast.

MONEY

What did you do before you started writing? Well, I went to university and studied English literature for as long as I possibly could. By day, I did an honours degree and at night, I was in punk-rock bands.

How lucrative – or not – was playing punk rock? We were paid $50 per gig, which we split between four of us. And we had to pay the lighting and sound guys. We eventually made it to the princely sum of $100 per gig. That was living! This is the early ’80s and there was no sense that it was leading anywhere. We just loved what we were doing; that was enough reward.

How did you pivot to writing? Well, I became a high-school English teacher and was in touch with all these year 7 and 8 kids who hated reading with a passion. They’d never had a good experience with a book, and assured me books were for losers and nerds. And I was like, “No, no, no! You’re making such a big mistake.” You can have movies and punk rock and computer games and books. So I would stop work at five and write until midnight.

And how rich are you now? I can spend all my time creating and writing books and I have a stereo system and can buy almost any record I want. That, to me, is the definition of wealth.

SEX

Andy, we’ve landed on “sex”. I knew this was going to happen! [Groans] How does a children’s writer talk about sex?

Looking back, was your sex education robust enough to equip you for later? Not entirely, no. I think there should be classes on relationships in high school, alongside English and maths. After my first marriage ended, I was like, “I’m not sure what just happened there.” I was very literate when it came to English and writing, but illiterate in how to maintain a relationship. So I started doing courses and reading books, trying to learn.

What did you learn? That you’re initially attracted to each other, perhaps, because the other person has the qualities you’ve maybe repressed or disowned within yourself. This is a great basis for starting a relationship but, at a certain point, those opposites are going to start to grate. So that needs conscious management and understanding. I also thought that I should never inflict myself on a woman again – that maybe it’d be best if I stayed single, unless a potential partner had a really great sense of humour and loved books as much as I did. And then there I am, working on my first book with this editor, Jill. I was like, “Jesus, she’s ticking a lot of boxes …” That was 1996. We moved in together in 1997.

Now you’re married and work together. Are there rules for making that work? Obviously, being respectful of each other’s talents. But also, many writers are very protective of their words: “Don’t touch my masterpiece!” I was saying, “Bring it on. Do your worst. You are my protection, making this book as great as it can be.” When she goes hard on one of my pieces, I’m not sitting there feeling sad and hurt.

That sounds like a good rule: to leave the ego out. Yeah. “What’s best for the story? What’s best for us here? How can we both get what we need?”

What’s your advice for having conversations with young people about the tricky stuff, such as relationships and sex? People often say when I’m with a large group of kids, “You just talk to them like they’re normal people.” How else would I talk to them? They’re miniature adults. They can wonder about the world; they can have philosophical discussions. So I’m not going to be here going, “Don’t do this.” I might be saying, “Here’s my advice. Be careful, but I know you’re going to do it your way.” Trust them.

BODIES

How many tattoos do you have? I haven’t counted them, but they’ve filled up one arm and half of the other.

Which was the first? [Shows left forearm] My first was this Dr. Seuss one: [a cartoon fish inspired by the book] One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish.

Which is the most recent? Johnny Knucklehead [shows a cartoon face on his left palm].

Wow, that must’ve been painful. Yeah, but I suffer for my art. Johnny Knucklehead’s a character in the new book. We were on tour last year and I said, “Wouldn’t it be funny to get Johnny Knucklehead’s head tattooed on my palm?” My then-publicist, Charlotte, said, “Are you serious?” I went, “I guess so.” So she booked me in with a tattooist.

You like writing about bodies and bodily functions. Why do you love leaning into the grotty? As a child, you have a body and you’re learning what it does and how to use it. It does unpredictable things, like burps and farts, and you get into trouble for those. You’ve got to learn to control yourself. So there’s a fair bit of tension about the body. Pull the right lever, though, and it becomes a laugh. Whenever the subject of bums comes up in talks, the kids laugh like drains. [Collaborator and illustrator Terry Denton] once said, “I tried to see how many times I could say it before they stopped laughing.” I said, “How many times did it?” He said, “I never found it.”

Andy Griffiths will discuss his latest book at Sydney Opera House on September 6.

diceytopics@goodweekend.com.au

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