Queer horror has long used monsters, ghosts, and demons to explore questions of identity, belonging, and survival. In Phoning Faust, filmmaker and writer Sophie Mutiara Nova brings those themes into the digital age, following a lonely young woman whose late-night call to the Devil spirals into a story about desire, connection, trauma, and the search to be truly seen. Equal parts supernatural horror and emotional reckoning, the novel examines loneliness, online relationships, and the bargains we make with ourselves and others in pursuit of acceptance.
I caught up with Nova via email for a devilishly fun, thoughtful, and deeply personal conversation about queer horror, internet culture, chronic illness, writing through trauma, and finding connection in a world that can often feel isolating.
You dial 666 and get the devil on the line. Be honest: how long before you hang up, and what’s the first question you accidentally take too far?
I am so thrilled (and slightly terrified) to be answering your questions on 6-6-(2)6! Bring on the Halloween in summer vibes! And thank you for having me <3 it is truly an honor!
Maybe it’s because of being Gen Z, but I try to text/chat/send emails before I dial phone numbers (yet I apparently had no qualms placing that melodramatic onus on my poor main character Dian Faust. Sorry, Dian). But if I called a number and someone said they were the devil, I was raised to have too many beliefs in ghosts to stay on the line. I’d hang up instantly: “wrong number!” I’m not asking questions. I have a bad resting heart rate and not-good cardio fitness. I’m at a disadvantage for a horror movie, and I would like to attempt to make it to the end credits.
What’s the one thing Mephistopheles would offer you that you’d like to say you’d refuse, but realistically wouldn’t even hesitate to say yes to?
Well, if a cool tatted genderfluid demon entity named Memphis/Mephistopheles (like in my book) tried reaching out to me… I’m demisexual, but I’m also curious. I’m the type of queer person who came out in the peak era of gay Tumblr. I’d want to see what happens for the plot.
An offer I wouldn’t hesitate to say yes to… Wait, this is how Mephistopheles got Faust, isn’t it? I see what you did there.
Writing is hard. What deal with the devil would you make to make writing a novel easier?
To be honest, I’m immunocompromised and one of the symptoms of my chronic illness is bad chronic fatigue. Sometimes, an episode hits me, and it’s essentially a fainting spell. Bad trembling, dizziness, and the world fades out until it’s over. I had family members who also had lupus and Sjrögens and, sometimes, we pass out on the floor because fatigue was so bad we couldn’t make it to the furniture. On long drives, I sometimes have to sleep in a parking lot just to make it home. Not the best situation, but neither is being drowsy on the road.
Factor in neurodivergence with chronic illness, and I’ve fallen asleep working on deadlines with my face mashed against keyboard keys. I’m not saying I’d want to start a horror movie and play around with making any devilish deals, but I would be curious about maybe alleviating that symptom (I remember life pre-diagnosis and post as being two very different timelines). It wouldn’t make writing easy, but it sure would help. However, I accept being immunocompromised just means taking a different path in life (like a lot of my loved ones who are also chronically ill), and I write a lot of immunocompromised and neurodivergent characters in my work.
On a lighter note- if Mephistopheles can conjure a really good cup of tea or the best es doger (shaved ice and fruit dessert) instantly though… oooh. Look, I’ve been known to be tempted by dessert from time to time to write faster.
What role does digital space play in your conception of horror or the demonic?
I grew up with the internet, on the cusp of dial-up and iterations of five billion internet platforms all swallowing each other up like Ouroboros. Unrestricted internet access is like Pandora’s Box. On the one hand, it’s a magical world of “am I gay” quizzes and dressing up your video game avatar as different genders to go on queer online dates, putting that one Queer as heck music video in your Private Browsing tab, or saving “forbidden” gay fanfic. Absolutely feeling fantastic, as King Princess would sing.
The internet is this magical place that blends glitchcore with Dante’s Nine Circles meets The Matrix. The internet is also a dangerous place. People fake their online profiles/personas, scammers try to slide into your DMs and cyberbullies write truly vile things that should never see the light of day. The internet’s like Wonderland, with either the magical singing teapots or the Queen of Hearts trying to take off your head. You never quite know which one you’re going to get. Very We’re All Going to the World’s Fair by Jane Schoenbrun.
There’s also a romantic aspect to the digital unknown. You can meet anyone! (Repeat but with a creepy voice this time: you can meet anyone). The internet can become the source of your possible next most magical connection… or your worst nightmare (as in Dian Faust’s case). I actually made a cute, geeky queer rom-com as my first film ever about the idea of online “missed connections” in my undergrad at Dartmouth called IRL: In Real Life. Except instead of a devil, the character in that short film meets a nonbinary gamer knight. That past version of me was replaying Honey by Kehlani on repeat, watching Life is Strange edits, and graduating into the 2020 lockdown from COVID-19. Past me would be awestruck to learn that writing queer fic films later led to a future of international film festivals, fellowships, and signing for filmmaking with the wonderful Patricia Court Entertainment. And yes, I keep my online LGBT+ Dungeons & Dragons group in my calendar. Shoutout to my sweetheart gaming group.
At the end of the day, I will say this. The best parts of the internet– as all things from one’s heart and soul– are human-made. The horror is when we forget that.
Your book leans into loneliness and connection. What’s the most unhinged thing someone could say on a late-night call that would actually make you stay on the line?
I’ve been on both sides of this mental health crisis phone call. Sometimes, I’d stay with my friends on the other end of the line just to be present. Other times, (many times, thank you, friends), people would stay on the call with me to ensure I was safe too.
When you’re on one of those late-night calls, I think there’s a lot of making each other feel better too. Do you want me to listen? To take your mind off things? To share silly video clips or photos? I think the thing that made me laugh so hard that I still remember was when my friends and I shared a photo of some eels. (Yes, EELS). Their faces are so silly, like they’re scream queens in a horror movie. Truly, look “eel faces” up. Do it. Right now. I see why Ursula (shoutout to drag queen Divine) loved eels so much in the Little Mermaid. They’re adorably awkward.
All jokes aside (from me at least). What did you want readers to sit with after finishing Phoning Faust?
I‘m Queer, nonbinary, half-Indonesian, and half-white American. I grew up in Catholic schools in the Midwest and nodded off to hymns. I didn’t meet with another Queer Indonesian person until I was in my twenties in Los Angeles. I felt horribly alone. This information will be useful for the following story.
When I was younger, I was outed before I was ready, and I had holy water thrown on me, a whole lot of praying over me. It was intense. I felt awful as I was told I’d go to Hell. I cried myself to sleep. I called the suicide hotline a lot. The Trevor Project too (shoutout to them for helping me). I got better, then I didn’t. I tried to cope in bad ways.
I ended up in relationships that were toxic. Abusive. That crossed the line again and again. That caused me to re-closet. I felt I could no longer express my gender in unique ways as a nonbinary person. I was dysphoric every day, cutting out pieces of myself to please someone else and still failing. But I had to want this, to be okay with the self-hatred, or it would all be for nothing. I could work through it, fix it. After all, I’d been fixing things all my life. I had no idea who I stared at in the mirror. That wasn’t me. I dissociated constantly. I had to, especially when a line got crossed, when I got hurt again. When someone didn’t listen to “no”.
I still block a lot of these memories out.
I survived physically, but I wasn’t well mentally. I met with a therapist who saved my life, a referral from another friend. My therapist didn’t charge me when I told them about the pain, which was beyond kind. But I still needed to find ways to get better. Episodes were never easy.
There’s the cherry pie Author’s Note in Phoning Faust that speaks on one of these episodes. I cancelled all my social plans, locked myself in my room for weeks alone. I only ate a shitty, cheap cherry pie then stared at the ceiling, too tired to cry. A friend told me to punch the cherry pie, to break free from it. I had to believe it would get better. I gave myself no other choice. I punched it, and it was silly, but I felt better.
I found myself in stories. I read fiction that handles similar topics of mental health like Kaveh Akbar’s Martyr! Or Emily Austin’s Everyone in This Room Will Someday Be Dead. Or issues of bodily consent and dealing with non-consent and Trans identity like in Andrew Joseph White’s You’re Not Meant to be Human. Currently, I’m reading Rasheed Newson’s My Government Means to Kill Me and Monika Kim’s Molka, which both deal with bodily autonomy in different ways.
I couldn’t process what had happened.
So, instead, I wrote Phoning Faust.
I had a hard time journaling about my experiences. Even harder, with the neurodivergence, to talk about it. I found it easier to write fiction. For example, when Memphis/Mephistopheles in my book describes selling their soul…”make it quick, make me forget, please, make me forget.” It isn’t explicit, but it’s implied through literary horror that this passage describes how they wanted to forget the anguish of making the pact, of losing their body and soul to the devil. In the same vein, that was me processing what surviving abuse meant to me. Within my book, Memphis, a bisexual genderfluid chaos entity, is a survivor of sexual assault and violence. Dian Faust, a mixed Indonesian lesbian, is a survivor of self-harm and suicide. Writing them both into existence helped me feel less alone. I hope they help others too.
I also credit going to the punk band meetups from Velvet Penny for domestic violence awareness in Los Angeles as also being a space that empowered me to tell my story too. (Rock on!) I made films and stories and art. And eventually, I learned to smile again. I’ve always found my characters to be sources of the strength I wish I had. I hope others find comfort in these characters, and that they write their own stories to share.
Ultimately, I ask people to sit with this line from my book, and I wish them love and kindness and all the other things we need more of in the world. It reads:
“…to be accepted. To be seen and understood. To be valued.
That’s love, isn’t it?
To say: I see you.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Sophie Mutiara Nova (they/them) is a queer, half-Indonesian, SLE-diagnosed Writer-Director. Their TV series have won the Launchpad Pilot Competition, ScreenCraft Horror Competition, and many others; their film work’s screened in festivals and venues internationally. A Lambda Literary fellow, Sophie is originally from Chicago and currently based in Los Angeles.