The Yellow Wallpaper is one of my favourite books. When I read it, what struck me the most was how personal it felt; it was like I was reading someone’s diary. I suppose I was, in a way, as Charlotte Perkins Gilman framed it to be the protagonist’s secret journal that no other character ever reads, or even knows about.

Reading The Yellow Wallpaper felt like an intrusion, and I had to go somewhere private when I wanted to read it. I was intrigued, then, to see how it might translate to the stage.

I took my seat right in the middle of the audience, between a close friend and a stranger who was cracking his knuckles with an aggressive intensity. The lights dimmed, and actress Christina Isgrove-Clarke appeared on stage next to a rather skeletal metal bed, an old chair, and scraps of I-couldn’t-yet-tell-what.

It created a rather cold atmosphere that felt dirty and sterile at the same time, like an abandoned hospital. It was easy to sympathise with Isgrove-Clarke’s despondent character in such a setting.

There was no yellow wallpaper. But, as she spoke and started to talk about it, swirling yellow lights began to spin slowly in the background. The air changed, and Isgrove-Clarke’s demeanour shifted into something strange and distant.

It almost felt like she was playing a different character, a woman whose mind is not in her own body, before snapping back into the more present and relatable figure that we met at the very start of the show.

During that change in personality I felt quite acutely the sense of intrusion I felt when I read the book. Even more so, I think, than when I just read the book by myself. Perkins Gilman’s incredible portrayal of, to use a cliché phrase, the dark parts of the mind, is so much more remarkable when you hear them in an actual person’s voice.

Reading The Yellow Wallpaper felt like reading someone’s diary – but watching The Yellow Wallpaper felt like I was listening directly in on someone’s mind.

As the show went on, the two versions of Isgrove-Clarke’s character began to melt into each other. She tried to use the wallpaper to regain her lost sense of self – a task that doesn’t seem very logical – and it ends up maddening her even further.

In her frustration she threw the mattress across the room. I froze in my seat at this moment. A tense heat permeated the atmosphere as she seemed to comprehend this act of frenzy.

I felt like a stage show might create a distance between protagonist and audience that didn’t occur in the book – and whilst in some ways that may have been true, what I didn’t consider was that, in other ways, it actually minimised the distance. The spiral into madness felt much more palpable when I saw it happen with my own two eyes, rather than picture it in my head.

The violent tearing of the wallpaper, the crawling across the floor, the slow ‘creep’ across the stage in the final scene; they all felt so real. At the end Isgrove-Clarke walked in circles, the only version of her character remaining being the woman whose mind was not her own but the property of the wallpaper. A cold shiver ran down my spine as she carelessly stepped over her unconscious husband.

This is the first time I have ever been to Maddermarket theatre (and perhaps I should reluctantly admit that it is the first time I have ever been to the theatre in Norwich at all), so I cannot speak too much on what the scene is usually like – however, the audience was unfortunately sparse.

The show was created by director Harry Quirk and Isgrove-Clarke, both of whom are a part of Growing Theatre C.I.C. , which the show was associated with. Despite the low turnout, I am certainly going to keep my eye on their future endeavours, and I recommend you do too.

It is something that is truly unique, and, for me at least, unlike any stage shows I have been to previously. Those of you interested in the fresh blood in theatre and the East Anglian creative scene, make sure you pay attention to productions put on by Growing Theatre C.I.C.