Writer/performer Megan Markham’s solo show consists of a series of fairytale-like stories about witches and witchcraft. The imagery and ideas are often charmingly inventive: the library at the centre of the universe that contains every book ever written; the lead character in another story who’s called The Clockmaker because she’s living in time when people love their jobs enough to be named after them; in a third story, the maiden with hair of starlight.

But, by the time I got to that starlight, I was fatigued: I’d been getting a lot of ornamentation, but not much substance.

Markham attempts to pull everything together with a framing device: telling these stories, she’s trying to convince her conservative Christian grandmother that witches are okay. But the okayness of witches is already a given in this piece, so the device holds little tension and supplies little reward.

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