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2025 Edfringe Review: Meg& Marge

  • Writer: A Diary for Strangers
    A Diary for Strangers
  • Aug 6
  • 2 min read

Updated: Aug 8





Image Credit: Harry Pont
Image Credit: Harry Pont

★★★★☆


The show opens with a spotlight on her—the only light on the dark stage. She looks nervous, isolated. It is a theatrical monologue, but actually, she’s speaking on an online stream.


Her name was Megan, who was frightened and helpless at the moment.


It all goes back to one day, when Megan saw a ghost—the author of the book she was reading. She had been reading The Book of Margery Kempe, a book supposed to bring her closer to God. Ironically, it had the opposite effect.


When Kempe suddenly emerged from the aisle, entering from among the audience seats, I was as shocked as poor Meg.


Dressed in a medieval costume but acting like a self-absorbed influencer, Kempe flaunts her beauty, cares about her fame, and talks openly about her sex life—everything a traditional woman is not “supposed” to be. It’s through the boldness and shamelessness of Kempe that Meg’s inner emptiness is revealed. She is so hollow that she clings to whatever seems strong and unshakeable—like the weight of traditional values, accumulated over centuries and seemingly immune to the influence of the relatively young feminist movement. Now, she clings to Margery Kempe—a woman so radically honest (with herself, at least) that she becomes almost invincible. Meg seems drawn to her, even seduced.


This is where the show becomes both ironic and fascinating: it’s through a medieval woman’s unapologetic embrace of her own desires that Meg transforms into a modern woman—one who no longer feels ashamed to admit her sex life is disappointing, no longer feels certain about her heterosexuality, and who now turns away from God—as the symbol of perfectionism she had endlessly chased through housework.


And then everything shifts from good to unforgettable with the sapphic, delightfully kinky ending: Meg kneels and begs, “Be my God. Punish me when I’m bad.”I honestly can’t think of a better ending.

It’s a real pity the show wasn’t labeled as LGBTQ+ content—I imagine queer audiences, especially lesbians, would have loved it.




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Image by Europeana

About Me

I’m a rummager of second-hand lesbian stories — whispers, gossip, marginalia.

 

I collect the soft traces and loud silences left by women who loved women, whether or not they ever said so aloud.

—from Japanese rental websites where dreamers describe their future with a lover in lesbian tones,


to ancient Chinese divination slips from the Qin dynasty, hinting that the direction of a doorway may determine whether your wife and your sister will fall for each other.

This site is my notebook, my archive, my way of asking what’s been hidden, and why.
Welcome to my diary for strangers.

Let the posts come to you.

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