Kylie Lee Baker’s adult horror debut “Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng” is a raw, unflinching portrayal of the early pandemic era that transforms real-world xenophobia into supernatural horror. Set against the backdrop of 2020’s emptied New York City streets, the novel crafts a nightmare that feels uncomfortably close to reality—perhaps because its monsters aren’t entirely fictional.
A Story Born from Real-World Horror
In the haunting landscape of pandemic-stricken New York, Cora Zeng works as a crime scene cleaner, scrubbing away blood and entrails from apartments in Chinatown. Her job cleaning up death seems almost fitting for someone whose life shattered when her sister Delilah was pushed in front of a subway train by a stranger who called her a “bat eater.” But as more East Asian women fall victim to brutal murders—each crime scene hiding a mutilated bat—Cora’s careful isolation begins to crumble, and hungry ghosts emerge from the shadows.
Baker’s novel taps into the deeply unsettling atmosphere of early 2020—the emptied streets, the panic buying, the uncertainty—and infuses it with supernatural horror that serves as a powerful metaphor for the wave of anti-Asian hate crimes that accompanied the pandemic. The result is a story that walks a tightrope between supernatural terror and painfully realistic violence.
Strengths: Atmospheric Dread and Cultural Commentary
The novel’s greatest asset is its atmosphere. Baker excels at creating dense, oppressive dread that permeates every page. From Cora’s germaphobic rituals to the creeping shadows in her apartment, the narrative constantly keeps readers on edge. The horror elements build slowly but relentlessly, creating a claustrophobic reading experience that mirrors Cora’s increasingly confined existence.
The supernatural elements—particularly the hungry ghosts—are handled with cultural authenticity. Baker weaves Chinese folklore into the narrative fabric without exoticizing or oversimplifying these traditions. The author’s exploration of the Hungry Ghost Festival and the rituals surrounding death adds depth to the story while emphasizing themes of remembrance and cultural connection.
Baker’s prose style deserves special mention—it’s sharp, visceral, and uncompromising, especially in scenes describing crime scenes or supernatural encounters:
“Her throat is a jagged line, torn flaps of skin and sharp bone and the pulsing O of her open trachea. Blood runs unstopped from her throat, swirling together with the rainwater of the rotting train station, and soon the whole platform is bleeding, weeping red water into the crack between the platform and the train, feeding the darkness.”
This unflinching approach to gore serves the narrative well, creating a stark contrast with Cora’s clinical, detached perspective on cleaning up death.
Character Development: Isolation and Connection
Cora Zeng stands as one of the most compelling protagonists in recent horror fiction. Her systematic cleaning rituals, emotional numbness, and overwhelming sense of isolation are rendered with painful clarity. Her germaphobia and obsessive cleaning aren’t just quirks but manifestations of deeper trauma and her desperate attempt to control a world that feels increasingly chaotic.
The supporting cast—particularly Yifei, Harvey, and Auntie Zeng—are well-drawn characters who provide different perspectives on grief, survival, and cultural identity. Yifei’s revelation about her past and Harvey’s childhood trauma are particularly powerful moments that add emotional weight to the narrative.
Thematic Richness: Identity, Grief, and Systemic Injustice
Baker’s novel excels at weaving complex themes into its horror framework:
- Identity and belonging: Cora’s complicated relationship with her Chinese heritage and her position as an Asian American create tension throughout the narrative.
- Grief and remembrance: The novel explores how different characters process loss, particularly through the contrast between Western and Eastern traditions around death.
- Systemic injustice: The novel unflinchingly portrays how institutions fail the most vulnerable, from police ignoring hate crimes to media silence on violence against Asian women.
- Visibility and erasure: The hungry ghosts serve as powerful metaphors for those rendered invisible by society—victims whose deaths go uninvestigated, whose stories remain untold.
Critiques: Pacing Issues and Narrative Focus
Despite its strengths, “Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng” isn’t without flaws. The middle section of the novel occasionally suffers from pacing issues, with some scenes dragging while others feel rushed. The supernatural elements sometimes compete with the more grounded horror of hate crimes and serial killings, creating tonal inconsistencies that can disrupt the narrative flow.
The novel’s sprawling cast of characters, while mostly well-developed, occasionally dilutes the emotional impact of key events. Some side characters feel underdeveloped despite playing significant roles in the plot. Additionally, certain plot threads—particularly those involving Officer Wang and the mayoral conspiracy—feel somewhat rushed in their resolution.
The book’s ending, while delivering emotional catharsis, might leave some readers wanting more concrete resolutions to certain plot points. Some may find the conclusion both too neat in some aspects and too ambiguous in others.
Comparison to Other Works
Baker, known for her YA fantasy novels like “The Keeper of Night” duology, makes a striking transition to adult horror with “Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng.” Fans of her earlier work will recognize her skill at exploring cultural identity and outsider perspectives, but might be surprised by the unflinching brutality of this novel.
“Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng” shares DNA with other contemporary horror novels that tackle systemic injustice through supernatural frameworks, such as Stephen Graham Jones’ “My Heart Is a Chainsaw” and Gretchen Felker-Martin’s “Manhunt.” Baker’s work also echoes elements of Alyssa Wong’s short fiction in its blending of cultural horror traditions with contemporary settings.
Readers who appreciate horror novels that find terror in real-world issues rather than purely supernatural threats will find much to appreciate here. The novel sits comfortably alongside works like Paul Tremblay’s “A Cabin at the End of the World” or Alma Katsu’s “The Fervor,” which similarly use horror elements to explore real-world anxieties and historical traumas.
Final Verdict: A Significant Horror Debut
Despite its occasional missteps, “Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng” stands as a powerful, necessary addition to the contemporary horror landscape. Baker has crafted a novel that refuses to look away from uncomfortable truths about racism, grief, and institutional failure, while still delivering genuinely frightening supernatural horror.
The novel’s exploration of anti-Asian hate during the pandemic is particularly valuable, offering an unflinching window into experiences that many readers may have only glimpsed through news headlines. By giving these experiences supernatural form through hungry ghosts and nightmarish imagery, Baker creates a visceral reading experience that lingers long after the final page.
For readers willing to face both supernatural dread and the all-too-real horrors of racism and violence, “Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng” offers a challenging but rewarding experience. Baker’s voice is distinct and necessary in today’s horror landscape—one that understands true horror often lurks in the mundane rather than the supernatural.
Strengths:
- Powerful atmospheric horror
- Culturally authentic supernatural elements
- Strong protagonist and supporting characters
- Timely exploration of anti-Asian racism during the pandemic
Weaknesses:
- Occasionally uneven pacing
- Some underdeveloped side characters
- Plot threads that feel rushed toward the conclusion
- Tonal inconsistencies between supernatural and realistic elements
A Personal Note on Reading “Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng”
As the hungry ghosts in Baker’s novel appeared through the cracks of darkness in Cora’s apartment, this advance reader copy materialized in my mailbox like an omen—a story asking to be devoured before it officially emerges from the shadows. Though I received this ARC in exchange for my honest opinion, I found myself haunted by the story long after I turned the final page, much like Cora with her persistent visions. The novel asks uncomfortable questions and refuses to offer easy answers, much like the hungry spirits that demand sustenance but offer no resolution. Some books entertain; others—like this one—leave teeth marks on your soul.
