Gretchen Felker-Martin’s Black Flame emerges as a tour de force of horror fiction that masterfully weaves together the visceral terror of body horror with the psychological devastation of internalized oppression. Following her acclaimed debut Manhunt and sophomore effort Cuckoo, Felker-Martin continues to establish herself as one of contemporary horror’s most unflinching voices, crafting narratives that refuse to let readers look away from society’s darkest impulses.
Set against the backdrop of 1980s New York, Black Flame follows Ellen Kramer, a film restorer whose discovery of a lost Nazi-era exploitation film becomes a catalyst for unleashing both supernatural horror and deeply buried personal truths. What begins as a professional restoration project evolves into something far more sinister as Ellen becomes convinced that the cursed film is bleeding into reality itself.
The Architecture of Despair
Felker-Martin constructs Ellen’s world with meticulous attention to the suffocating nature of closeted existence in Reagan-era America. Ellen’s life at the Path Foundation represents more than mere employment; it becomes a metaphor for the preservation of toxic ideologies that should have been left to decay. The author’s background in film criticism shines through in her authentic portrayal of archival work, from the technical minutiae of film restoration to the institutional politics that govern such organizations.
The novel’s structure mirrors the restoration process itself, with each chapter title reflecting stages of film preservation: “Technical Selection,” “The Negative,” “Emulsion,” “Duplication.” This clever organizational framework reinforces the central conceit that Ellen’s life is being edited and manipulated by forces beyond her control, much like the cursed film she’s restoring.
Ellen’s relationship with her family forms another crucial layer of the narrative’s horror. Her interactions with her parents, particularly her mother Janet’s relentless campaign to force Ellen into heteronormative compliance, create a domestic terror that rivals any supernatural threat. Felker-Martin expertly captures the generational trauma that permeates Jewish-American families still processing the Holocaust’s aftermath, while simultaneously exploring how that historical horror intersects with contemporary homophobia.
Celluloid Sorcery and Queer Liberation
The fictional film within the novel, The Baroness, serves as both MacGuffin and metaphor. Directed by the doomed Karla Bartok, this lost work of “degenerate art” becomes a vessel for exploring themes of artistic expression under fascist oppression. Felker-Martin’s description of the film’s content—featuring transgender performers, graphic sexuality, and occult imagery—deliberately invokes the kind of cinema that the Nazis sought to destroy.
As Ellen becomes increasingly obsessed with the restoration, the boundaries between the film’s reality and her own begin to dissolve. The author employs a technique reminiscent of David Cronenberg’s body horror, where the medium itself becomes infectious. Film strips burrow through Ellen’s flesh, and the characters from The Baroness begin manifesting in her daily life. These supernatural intrusions serve as external manifestations of Ellen’s internal struggle with her repressed sexuality and authentic identity.
The transformation sequence, where Ellen ultimately becomes Benjamin, represents one of the most powerful examples of transgender metamorphosis in contemporary horror fiction. Felker-Martin refuses to sanitize this process, instead presenting it as both liberation and apocalypse—a necessary destruction of the old self to birth the new.
Technical Mastery and Narrative Innovation
Felker-Martin’s prose style demonstrates remarkable versatility, shifting from clinical descriptions of film restoration techniques to hallucinogenic passages that blur reality and nightmare. Her ability to maintain narrative coherence while depicting Ellen’s psychological disintegration showcases sophisticated storytelling craft. The author’s use of present tense creates an immediacy that pulls readers directly into Ellen’s deteriorating mental state.
The novel’s treatment of violence deserves particular attention. While Black Flame contains graphic content that some readers may find disturbing, this violence serves specific narrative purposes rather than existing for shock value alone. The climactic theater sequence, where supernatural entities massacre the film’s audience of conservative politicians and donors, functions as both cathartic release and political commentary on the consequences of oppressive ideologies.
Felker-Martin’s research into 1980s New York culture, film restoration practices, and Holocaust history provides authentic grounding for the supernatural elements. Her portrayal of Reagan-era homophobia feels historically accurate without becoming heavy-handed, while her depiction of archival work demonstrates genuine understanding of preservation techniques and institutional dynamics.
Strengths and Considerations
Black Flame succeeds brilliantly in several key areas:
- Character Development: Ellen’s journey from repressed self-hatred to supernatural liberation feels both psychologically credible and mythologically resonant
- Historical Integration: The novel’s incorporation of Holocaust trauma and 1980s political climate creates rich contextual layers
- Genre Innovation: Felker-Martin successfully merges body horror, occult fiction, and queer liberation narrative into a cohesive whole
- Technical Authenticity: The film restoration details add credibility and thematic depth
However, some readers may find challenges in certain aspects:
- Graphic Content: The novel’s unflinching depiction of violence and body horror may overwhelm sensitive readers
- Pacing Fluctuations: The middle section occasionally slows as Ellen’s isolation intensifies
- Supernatural Logic: The rules governing the cursed film’s power remain deliberately ambiguous, which may frustrate some readers seeking clearer explanations
Literary Context and Comparisons
Black Flame occupies fascinating territory within contemporary horror literature. Readers who appreciated Clive Barker’s Books of Blood will recognize similar themes of art as conduit for supernatural transformation. The novel also shares DNA with Ramsey Campbell’s psychological horror and the transgressive fiction of Poppy Z. Brite.
For those seeking similar explorations of queer identity within horror frameworks, consider:
- Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia – for atmospheric dread and feminist themes
- The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones – for cultural trauma translated through supernatural horror
- Ring Shout by P. Djèlí Clark – for historical horror that confronts systemic oppression
- White is for Witching by Helen Oyeyemi – for haunted houses as metaphors for identity
- The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling – for isolation horror with queer elements
Final Verdict: A Transformative Horror Experience
Black Flame represents a significant achievement in contemporary horror fiction, demonstrating Felker-Martin’s continued evolution as a storyteller willing to confront difficult truths through supernatural metaphor. The novel succeeds not merely as a work of genre fiction, but as a meditation on the cost of repression and the violent birth pangs of authentic selfhood.
While the graphic content and challenging themes may limit its audience, readers prepared for Felker-Martin’s unflinching approach will discover a work of remarkable power and originality. Black Flame confirms its author’s position among horror fiction’s most vital contemporary voices, offering a narrative that haunts long after the final page.
This is essential reading for anyone interested in horror that dares to examine the real monsters lurking within societal structures, transforming personal liberation into cosmic horror and finding beauty within the flames of destruction.
