This February, the New Works festival returns for its 13th year, celebrating the very best of student writing in Glasgow. We sat down with Simon, author of He Bends the Tall Grass, which performs on 26th February, Queen Margaret Union.
What inspired the creation of a wooden child as the central figure in this folk horror play?
The play centers on the characters’ complex relationships with the concept of “family.” Whether it’s something they’ve lost or something they long to have, the wooden boy serves as a poignant symbol of this yearning. Much like a tree, the wooden boy represents a state of emotional stasis, caught in an endless cycle of growth yet remaining unmoving. Emily’s unrelenting desire for a child she can never have and the Mallachds’ refusal to accept the family they’ve lost, mirror a tree’s paradox: it grows larger, yet stays rooted in one place, unable to change.
How did the rural Scottish setting influence the eerie tone of the story?
I set out to craft a story that reawakens an aspect of Scottish culture I fear is slipping away—our rich and captivating folklore. In exploring folktales like The Nine Maidens of Dundee and Robert the Bruce and the Spider, I sought to honor the traditions of rural Scotland. The settings explored by my characters serve as a tribute to these classic stories while also highlighting aspects of Scottish culture that extend beyond city life. I believe the eerie atmosphere of the tale will resonate with audiences, amplified by the desperation of the characters. The rural landscape itself becomes a silent but powerful presence on stage—just as the characters yearn for ownership of their bodies, the land longs for ownership of its own story.
What themes of motherhood and bodily autonomy were you most interested in exploring?
The intention of this play is to display, theatrically, the pressure to create ‘the perfect family,’ and how the world inadvertently views people who can’t or who simply do not wish to fit into this idealistic view. The play hopes to challenge society’s expectations through confronting the frustrating and outdated narrative that a person’s worth is tied solely to parenthood. I wish to amplify that people should be seen as individuals before the societal pressure to procreate, or their own autonomy. Through the characters dialogue and interaction, my hope is to emerge empathy from an audience at just how harrowing these misogynistic views can truly be: people who are infertile, have experienced losing their child or who simply cannot/do not wish to provide for children are seen to ‘be without purpose’ and this can vastly deplete parents’ overall sense of self and mental health. My intention was not only to amplify motherhood, but parenthood as a collective. The self-internalisation that stigmas particularly men to put up a strong front in potentially traumatic situations can be psychologically damaging and through abstract performance, I intend to highlight this societal issue too.
What was your thought process behind blending ancient folklore with modern issues?
Folktales, no matter the culture, are rooted in political, modern issues and morals. In the past few years, many forms of media have explored the theme of pregnancy especially in the horror genre. This can mainly be pinpointed by the overturning of ‘Roe v Wade,’ an American form of legislation that granted the right to have an abortion, which was overturned in 2022. Although an American legislation, this caused discussions and shockwaves on a global scale. Picking up from this, I wanted to explore how family issues include both parents involved as well as how society treats people who either cannot or do not want to have a family. Incorporating this into my own folktale helps me emulate these issues in a fantastical setting.
How did you approach creating tension and fear within the confined setting of a farmhouse?
My aim to build tension in the play is deeply rooted in my characters. The true horror of their situations lies not in the external threats, but in their own fear. The first couple scenes are focused on gradually escalating unease, as Emily goes about her work routine with the Mallachd’s. The longer the scene unfolds, the more discomfort will grow in the audience, knowing that at any moment, the story could take an unsettling, eldritch turn. By trapping these characters in the confines of a farmhouse, I force them to confront the emotional and personal truths they’ve been avoiding, particularly the way the mysterious wooden child brings their unresolved issues to the surface.
What emotions or questions do you hope audiences will leave with after seeing the play?
Mainly, I want an audience to leave my play with the understanding that we are all afraid of losing control of our bodies, even those that wish to seek that control. I hope that audiences enjoy the thrill ride the play took them on whilst also appreciating the deeper themes of vulnerability and autonomy. I want them to reflect on the complex relationship we all have with our own bodies—how we try to control them, how we fear losing that control, and how, in some ways, we’re all constantly negotiating that balance. I hope they leave with questions about what it means to truly be in control, and how much of that is an illusion.
Ultimately, I want them to feel both exhilarated and thoughtful—maybe even uncomfortable in a productive way, prompting them to think about their own boundaries and the ways they confront fear in their lives.









