In our ongoing Edinburgh Fringe 2026 interview series, we are speaking to artists and creatives who are bringing their shows to the Scottish capital this summer.
In this interview, we speak with playwright Lily Zhang and actor Peregrine Neger about their show 1918: The Final Salome.
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| Credit Lily Zhang. |
What can you tell me about your show?
Lily: This is a story about love — specifically, the kind so consuming it blurs the line between devotion and delusion. It grew out of an unfinished biography, though it isn't a strictly accurate biographical account. For two years I’d been researching Robert Ross — Oscar Wilde’s ex-lover and devoted literary executor — and the gaps in the historical record kept tempting me into wild speculations. Those speculations were entirely unfit for serious scholarship but too interesting to be abandoned. So, almost on a whim, I decided to write a play instead. When I freed my imagination from academic rigour, the characters began to speak for themselves, and what had seemed incomprehensible to me as a biographer suddenly made perfect sense. What emerged is something I hope is more interesting than what my biography might have been.
Lily: This is a story about love — specifically, the kind so consuming it blurs the line between devotion and delusion. It grew out of an unfinished biography, though it isn't a strictly accurate biographical account. For two years I’d been researching Robert Ross — Oscar Wilde’s ex-lover and devoted literary executor — and the gaps in the historical record kept tempting me into wild speculations. Those speculations were entirely unfit for serious scholarship but too interesting to be abandoned. So, almost on a whim, I decided to write a play instead. When I freed my imagination from academic rigour, the characters began to speak for themselves, and what had seemed incomprehensible to me as a biographer suddenly made perfect sense. What emerged is something I hope is more interesting than what my biography might have been.
The 1918 trial surrounding Salomé was fuelled by intense wartime paranoia and political hysteria. What drew you to this specific, volatile moment in history to explore Oscar Wilde’s legacy?
Lily: Well, to begin with, the 1918 trial was a deliciously absurd (if a bit unsettling) episode of English legal history: a significant segment of society believed that the British army was losing ground because politicians and their wives were swept up by homosexuality, and a jury was genuinely convinced that knowing what a clitoris is made a woman a lesbian and therefore an agent of the Kaiser. It’s difficult not to be fascinated.
As for Wilde's legacy, plenty has already been said, and I doubt I have much to add to the academic debate about the man himself. I am more interested in the people who were preoccupied with him in life and death. Depending on who you ask, he could be an artist, a martyr, a repentant sinner, an absent father, a symbol of evil, or simply a chaotic man, and the battle to shape his memory eventually became a kind of twentieth-century cadaver synod which put his life and work on trial eighteen years after his death. What I really want to explore, therefore, is how the love, hatred, prejudice, guilt, and regret which fuelled that battle lent Oscar Wilde a posthumous life, as well as how that battle became a prism reflecting the lives of those who lived in his shadow.
The play deals heavily with "the unreliability of memory as a means of protecting the people we love". How did you structurally represent the blurring lines between history, personal memories, and coping mechanisms in your script?
Lily: I abandoned chronological narrative very early in the process — a lesson learned from my ill-fated biography, where chronology made it far too easy to dump information without building a compelling character. The narrative structure was overhauled many times after that, and what I eventually settled on was, funnily enough, where I’d started. Borrowing from my own experience as an amateur historian sifting through stacks of old papers, I decided to make those letters, manuscripts, and books the medium connecting past and present.
Lily: I abandoned chronological narrative very early in the process — a lesson learned from my ill-fated biography, where chronology made it far too easy to dump information without building a compelling character. The narrative structure was overhauled many times after that, and what I eventually settled on was, funnily enough, where I’d started. Borrowing from my own experience as an amateur historian sifting through stacks of old papers, I decided to make those letters, manuscripts, and books the medium connecting past and present.
This felt right for Robert Ross’ story because, in a sense, his life was dictated by words on papers. His relationship with Wilde began with shared literary interests and developed through correspondence; he spent much of his life as custodian of Wilde's collected works; and above all, he lived in an age when a single indiscreet letter to someone of the wrong sex could land one in prison — and he was, in the end, persecuted to death by witch-hunters who scoured his papers depravity. I hope the play captures not just how reading can transport you into another time and place, but also the tyrannical power words can hold over a life.
How has the play evolved since its original premiere in Oxford last year? What did the redevelopment process reveal to you about the story that you didn't see during its student-theatre origins?
Lily: Massively — it's almost a different play. Something like 80% of what's on the page is either new or substantially rewritten. The narrative structure was overhauled; some characters were developed further, others rebuilt from scratch; and what had spanned seventy-four pages was condensed into twenty-eight.
Lily: Massively — it's almost a different play. Something like 80% of what's on the page is either new or substantially rewritten. The narrative structure was overhauled; some characters were developed further, others rebuilt from scratch; and what had spanned seventy-four pages was condensed into twenty-eight.
What the redevelopment process really revealed was how a story takes on a life of its own. Through the rewriting, I became more confident trusting my characters to speak for themselves — imagining their inner lives rather than simply following the dictates of historical sources. That to me was the most valuable lesson in storytelling.
Robert Ross is a monumental figure in queer literary history—devoted, burdened, and historically complex. How did you approach finding the human being beneath the heavy historical title of Oscar Wilde's literary executor?
Peregrine: I believe that Robbie’s posthumous fame, much like his influence on his contemporaries, is – unusually – largely owed to how he was as a human being. He was not a great artist (although, given his talent for writing and his impeccable taste, he may well have been one if he had wanted to), and, as you point out, he is chiefly remembered for his artistic and personal relationship with Oscar. I found him mostly in his own letters and creative writing, copies of which were carefully sourced by Lily, supplemented by some of the correspondence and biographical writings by his contemporaries. He was an extraordinarily perceptive man with a great sensitivity to beauty in all its forms, passionately and tirelessly ambitious in the cultivation and promotion of art and of the artists behind it, but never ambitious for his own sake. He was so unwilling to project an image of greatness or to put up any kind of façade that he openly acknowledged his homosexuality in a time when any homosexual act between men was readily classed as a ‘gross indecency’ and punished by imprisonment with hard labour, as Wilde had to endure between 1895-’97. To me, Robbie is monumental not because he was a ‘queer’ creative – a combination consistently prevalent throughout history – but because he was completely and uniquely honest, and because he demonstrated that queer love is not (just) something repulsive that happens in a public toilet between dirty, sick men: it is noble, dignified, profound, selfless, and strong enough to last longer even than life. Playing him in the period following Oscar’s death is a great and rare honour, as it is during this period that he showed most clearly the qualities that would later immortalise him, though not before taking their toll. It is by no means certain, of course, that these qualities will come across in my performance – Robbie did not try to project them, and I will not do so either. Besides, I am not Robbie, and I cannot show what I do not feel. I can only rely on my love for Robbie and for the things he loves, aided by the fortunate coincidence of more than a few biographical similarities, to serve as a tether between him and myself strong enough for me to tell (a version of) his truth and flexible enough for that truth be legible in my (very different) voice and body in a fringe theatre in Edinburgh anno 2026 within a single hour every evening.
Peregrine: I believe that Robbie’s posthumous fame, much like his influence on his contemporaries, is – unusually – largely owed to how he was as a human being. He was not a great artist (although, given his talent for writing and his impeccable taste, he may well have been one if he had wanted to), and, as you point out, he is chiefly remembered for his artistic and personal relationship with Oscar. I found him mostly in his own letters and creative writing, copies of which were carefully sourced by Lily, supplemented by some of the correspondence and biographical writings by his contemporaries. He was an extraordinarily perceptive man with a great sensitivity to beauty in all its forms, passionately and tirelessly ambitious in the cultivation and promotion of art and of the artists behind it, but never ambitious for his own sake. He was so unwilling to project an image of greatness or to put up any kind of façade that he openly acknowledged his homosexuality in a time when any homosexual act between men was readily classed as a ‘gross indecency’ and punished by imprisonment with hard labour, as Wilde had to endure between 1895-’97. To me, Robbie is monumental not because he was a ‘queer’ creative – a combination consistently prevalent throughout history – but because he was completely and uniquely honest, and because he demonstrated that queer love is not (just) something repulsive that happens in a public toilet between dirty, sick men: it is noble, dignified, profound, selfless, and strong enough to last longer even than life. Playing him in the period following Oscar’s death is a great and rare honour, as it is during this period that he showed most clearly the qualities that would later immortalise him, though not before taking their toll. It is by no means certain, of course, that these qualities will come across in my performance – Robbie did not try to project them, and I will not do so either. Besides, I am not Robbie, and I cannot show what I do not feel. I can only rely on my love for Robbie and for the things he loves, aided by the fortunate coincidence of more than a few biographical similarities, to serve as a tether between him and myself strong enough for me to tell (a version of) his truth and flexible enough for that truth be legible in my (very different) voice and body in a fringe theatre in Edinburgh anno 2026 within a single hour every evening.
The play explicitly tests the boundary between "devotion and delusion." How do you map Robbie’s internal conflict as he chooses not to defend Salomé in court, despite sacrificing so much of his life to protect Wilde's work?
Peregrine: In the play, the prospect of the Allan trial becomes a battleground for Robbie’s desires and anxieties. Some of them are new, some have been the focus of his life for years, and some arise unprocessed from the distant past. Robbie never seems deluded from the inside, but the elephantine presence of his love for Wilde and his grief for Wilde’s loss leaves room for little else, and sometimes I find it is simply too heavy to carry around, leaving Robbie rather paralysed. I have not been able to find the limit of his devotion to Oscar, and indeed I am not sure that there is one: I do not attribute Robbie’s inability to defend Salomé in court to inconstancy. One feeling that often creeps upon me when playing Robbie is the sense of his strength leaving him in the face of apparently inevitable failure, of determination being met with disability, of his body collapsing under the weight his mind can no longer carry. I often start the play with a determination verging on bloodlust and end it with a complete lack of will, though it is not always entirely clear when and how the transformation happens.
How do you physically and emotionally prepare to take the audience into that claustrophobic, high-stakes headspace night after night at the Fringe?
Peregrine: I like to keep my off-stage life as boring as possible in order to concentrate my energy into my performances. I am very fond of rest, and my preferred way to get ready to perform (or indeed to do anything at all) is lying down in semi-supine position, preferably in a dark and quiet place. Such a place is not easy to find at the Fringe, but the rewards are considerable: if I am able to surrender my own worries and tensions to the ground, my heart lies open to be struck by the rest of the cast. After all, my task is only to absorb the claustrophobia and the high stakes, not to create them – that’s Lily’s job. Aside from that, I try to stay as healthy as I can, which involves such agreeable duties as dragging my mortal flesh from place to place, supplying it with sufficient ice cream to keep the wind from blowing it away, and rewarding its good behaviour with vocal and physical exercise.
Peregrine: I like to keep my off-stage life as boring as possible in order to concentrate my energy into my performances. I am very fond of rest, and my preferred way to get ready to perform (or indeed to do anything at all) is lying down in semi-supine position, preferably in a dark and quiet place. Such a place is not easy to find at the Fringe, but the rewards are considerable: if I am able to surrender my own worries and tensions to the ground, my heart lies open to be struck by the rest of the cast. After all, my task is only to absorb the claustrophobia and the high stakes, not to create them – that’s Lily’s job. Aside from that, I try to stay as healthy as I can, which involves such agreeable duties as dragging my mortal flesh from place to place, supplying it with sufficient ice cream to keep the wind from blowing it away, and rewarding its good behaviour with vocal and physical exercise.
If you couldn’t use a flyer to attract audiences, what ridiculous object would you hand out to people to get them into your show?
Peregrine: Maybe the severed head of the prophet Jochanaan on a silver platter – it’s a good image I think, particularly in the moonlight.
Peregrine: Maybe the severed head of the prophet Jochanaan on a silver platter – it’s a good image I think, particularly in the moonlight.
Lily: Apples. Lots of apples. An insane amount of apples.
What is the one item in your Fringe Survival Kit that you can’t live without at the Fringe?
Peregrine: Keeping a close eye on my pocket watch is the best way of knowing what time it isn’t.
Lily: My credit card.
Peregrine: Keeping a close eye on my pocket watch is the best way of knowing what time it isn’t.
Lily: My credit card.
What would you deem as success at the end of the Fringe?
Peregrine: I think success is overrated. As an actor, it is impossible to foresee the impact of one’s work, and it is even more impossible to control it. Nor indeed is external success easy to measure: is it better to bring a crowd of people to tears, to bore most of an audience but to make someone laugh who really needs it, to solicit the praise of a great critic, to impress someone you love? I suppose one practical aim might be to find a way to keep acting – just to keep the mortality of the coil at bay for a bit.
Peregrine: I think success is overrated. As an actor, it is impossible to foresee the impact of one’s work, and it is even more impossible to control it. Nor indeed is external success easy to measure: is it better to bring a crowd of people to tears, to bore most of an audience but to make someone laugh who really needs it, to solicit the praise of a great critic, to impress someone you love? I suppose one practical aim might be to find a way to keep acting – just to keep the mortality of the coil at bay for a bit.
Lily: Not maxxing out my credit card.
More seriously, like many people who come to the Fringe, I hope to deliver a production the whole team can be proud of, get the story in front of a wider artistic community, and come out of all of it having grown as a writer and a theatremaker.
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| Peregrine Neger. Photo by Bella Wan. |
Other than your own show, are there any other shows you would recommend at the Fringe this year?
Lily: Out of the very few shows coming to the Fringe which I have already watched, I’d recommend 113 (Greenside @George Street). I caught their Oxford premiere, and thought the writing carried an air of Beckett without pretension and the performances were close to impeccable.
Lily: Out of the very few shows coming to the Fringe which I have already watched, I’d recommend 113 (Greenside @George Street). I caught their Oxford premiere, and thought the writing carried an air of Beckett without pretension and the performances were close to impeccable.
I can't speak with much confidence about shows I haven't seen, but if you're drawn to 1918: The Final Salomé, you'd probably also enjoy A Forgotten Woman: Mrs Oscar Wilde (theSpace @ Symposium Hall) and Louise: The Last Dance (Greenside @ George Street). The former is about Constance Lloyd — usually remembered as Oscar Wilde's wife and Vyvyan Holland's mother, but a fascinating woman in her own right as a feminist, activist, and writer. The latter is about Louise Weber, a dancer who defied convention and invented her own artistic genre like Maud Allan in my play.
What is one Edinburgh spot that you would recommend people to visit when they're not watching performances?
Lily: Arthur’s Seat — especially if you’d like an excuse to hold someone’s hand.
Lily: Arthur’s Seat — especially if you’d like an excuse to hold someone’s hand.
Can you describe the show in 5 words?
Lily: Who would die for love?
Peregrine: Can I keep Oscar alive?
Lily: Who would die for love?
Peregrine: Can I keep Oscar alive?
What keeps you inspired?
Peregrine: Love.
Lily: My autism.
Peregrine: Love.
Lily: My autism.
What would you hope someone takes away from seeing the show?
Peregrine: Anything they want (or indeed anything they don’t want).
Lily: Well, I didn’t write with any particular agenda in mind, and in any event, the author probably shouldn’t cling onto life by dictating what the audience should take away from the story. My only hope is that when people leave the theatre, they’d feel they haven't wasted their evening or their money.
When and where can people see the show?
19:35-20:30, 17-22 & 24-29 August in the Olive Studio of Greenside @George Street. For tickets visit https://www.edfringe.com/tickets/whats-on/1918-the-final-salom
19:35-20:30, 17-22 & 24-29 August in the Olive Studio of Greenside @George Street. For tickets visit https://www.edfringe.com/tickets/whats-on/1918-the-final-salom
If you are in London on 25 or 26 July, we have a preview at the Etcetera Theatre on Camden High Street (19:00-19:55 on 25 July, 18:00-18:55 on 26 July). For tickets visit https://www.etceteratheatrecamden.com/events/1918-the-final-salome
Follow us on Instagram (carfax_productions_oxford) for more details and updates!
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