Liann Zhang’s debut thriller “Julie Chan Is Dead” is a blistering, razor-sharp exploration of identity theft with a distinctly modern twist. Set against the backdrop of influencer culture, the novel follows Julie Chan, a cashier at SuperFoods who discovers her estranged twin sister Chloe, a successful internet personality, dead in her luxury apartment. Instead of calling the authorities, Julie makes an impulsive decision: she becomes Chloe, stepping into the curated life her twin carefully constructed, only to discover it’s built on secrets darker than she could have imagined.
What begins as a simple case of opportunistic identity theft evolves into a complex meditation on social media, cult mentality, family trauma, and the lengths to which the privileged will go to maintain their status. Zhang’s prose is crisp, alternately hilarious and horrifying, serving as the perfect vehicle for this tale of facades, filters, and the festering darkness behind picture-perfect posts.
A Premise That Hooks and Won’t Let Go
The novel grabs you from its memorable opening line: “One thing needs to be made clear: I did not kill my twin sister.” From there, Zhang systematically builds a world where nothing is as it seems, particularly not the carefully filtered lives of the social media elite.
Julie and Chloe were separated after their parents’ death in a car accident—Julie sent to live with a neglectful aunt while Chloe was adopted by the wealthy Van Huusens. Their paths crossed briefly when Chloe filmed a viral video reuniting with Julie and buying her a house, but the reunion was purely performative. After discovering Chloe’s body, Julie seizes the opportunity to step into the life she believes she deserves.
What makes this premise so compelling is how effortlessly Julie slips into Chloe’s identity. Social media provides just enough personal information for Julie to fake her way through encounters with Chloe’s assistant Fiona and the occasional fan, while the identical twin angle solves the physical resemblance problem that plagues most identity theft narratives. The perfect crime, it seems—until Julie receives an invitation to an exclusive retreat with Chloe’s influencer circle, the Belladonnas.
Cultural Commentary with Bite
Zhang’s novel functions brilliantly as both thriller and biting social satire. Through Julie’s outsider perspective, we see the absurdities of influencer culture:
- The casual way influencers receive tens of thousands of dollars for a single sponsored post
- The performative vulnerability that garners millions of views
- The ruthless competitiveness beneath picture-perfect friendships
- The disposal of products sent as PR after a single unboxing video
- The constant anxiety of maintaining engagement metrics
What elevates the novel beyond mere satire is Julie’s complicity. She’s not just judging this world—she’s desperate to be part of it. Her transition from critic to participant mirrors our own complicated relationship with social media, where we simultaneously mock its superficiality while seeking its validation. As Julie observes: “Shit like how I’m being wasteful, ungrateful, privileged, and tone-deaf. Boo-hoo. Who the fuck cares? How about you actually work and get to my level instead of complaining all the time?”
The Heart of Darkness: The Belladonnas and the Island Retreat
The novel shifts into psychological horror territory when Julie joins the Belladonnas—led by the ethereal Bella Marie Melniburg—on their annual island getaway. Cut off from the outside world, what begins as a luxurious retreat quickly descends into a nightmare of ritual sacrifices, mind control, and a mysterious entity named Eto that grants influencer fame in exchange for increasingly disturbing offerings.
Zhang expertly builds tension through a series of escalating rituals, from eating live mice to watching a member miscarry her child as a “sacrifice” for followers. The island sections recall the folk horror of “Midsommar” crossed with “The Social Network,” creating a unique blend of ancient evil and modern ambition.
What makes these scenes particularly effective is how they blur the line between supernatural influence and the all-too-human dynamics of peer pressure. Are the Belladonnas under the spell of an ancient deity, or is their behavior simply the logical endpoint of an industry built on exploitation and performative authenticity? The ambiguity persists even as Julie makes her own desperate choices to escape.
Strengths That Set This Debut Apart
Authentic Voice and Dark Humor
Zhang’s greatest strength is her protagonist’s voice. Julie is profane, insecure, materialistic, and occasionally cruel—yet somehow still sympathetic. Her observations are frequently laugh-out-loud funny, even in the darkest moments:
“I’m in my Uber, staring at the event space that Bella Marie rented. It’s a swanky hotel that has views of Central Park. I smell like hair spray mixed with Santal 33 and I can barely breathe due to the three shapewear sets strapping my core.”
This humor provides necessary relief from the increasingly dire situations, creating a tonal balancing act that few debut authors could manage.
Cultural Specificity
Zhang’s exploration of identity extends beyond the obvious twin dynamic to include nuanced portrayals of race and class. Julie’s observations about how different Asian influencers are treated compared to their white counterparts ring true, as do her conflicted feelings about assimilation. The novel never reduces these elements to simple talking points, instead weaving them organically into Julie’s worldview.
Technical Innovation
The novel’s structure is deceptively sophisticated. What seems at first like a straightforward chronological narrative gradually reveals itself as something more complex—possibly even unreliable. The final courtroom sections raise fascinating questions about perception, truth, and the nature of social media performance that linger long after the last page.
Areas for Improvement
Despite its considerable strengths, “Julie Chan Is Dead” isn’t without flaws:
- Pacing issues in the middle section – The island retreat, while compellingly bizarre, occasionally spends too much time on repetitive group dynamics before advancing the plot.
- Character development of secondary figures – Some of the Belladonnas beyond Bella Marie blend together, functioning more as types than individuals.
- Narrative convenience – Certain plot developments, particularly in the final legal sections, resolve a bit too neatly given the complexity of the crimes involved.
- Thematic restraint – The novel occasionally makes its points about social media culture too explicitly, when its plot developments already communicate these ideas effectively.
None of these issues significantly detract from the novel’s impact, and most are the kind of minor flaws expected in even the strongest debuts.
Final Verdict: A Killer Debut
“Julie Chan Is Dead” announces Liann Zhang as a major new talent in psychological thrillers. By using the framework of identical twins and identity theft to explore larger questions about authenticity in the digital age, Zhang has created something genuinely fresh in a crowded genre.
The novel works equally well as a suspenseful page-turner and as a satirical examination of influencer culture. Its final act, where Julie faces the consequences of her choices, raises profound questions about justice, perception, and the malleability of truth in a world where narrative control is the ultimate currency.
For readers who enjoy the psychological intensity of Gillian Flynn (Sharp Objects), the cultural commentary of Ottessa Moshfegh (My Year of Rest and Relaxation), and the dark humor of Oyinkan Braithwaite’s “My Sister, the Serial Killer,” this debut delivers on all fronts. It’s a story as addictive as scrolling through social media, but far more substantive than the curated content we consume there—a perfect read for our image-obsessed age.
Julie Chan Is Dead confirms that sometimes the most terrifying monsters aren’t supernatural entities demanding sacrifice, but ordinary people desperate to maintain their carefully constructed facades at any cost. In our era of filters, edits, and personal brands, Zhang’s debut cuts through with refreshing, unfiltered honesty—even when that honesty reveals something deeply disturbing about our collective obsessions.
