Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng by Kylie Lee Baker

I’ve been meaning to read this ever since it was published. Horror, gruesome crime scenes, and hungry ghosts? Yes please.

Before I get into what this book is about let me start with this: books that use COVID as a backdrop can sometimes feel distracting or forced, and having lived through that period myself, it’s often a signal for me to steer clear altogether. But Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng handles it beautifully and with real intention. 

Rather than relying on the pandemic simply for relatability or an easy connection with readers, Baker uses this moment in time to deepen the story, providing context for the surge of anti-Asian hate in New York City, the abuse of power at the hands of the NYPD, and the incessant violence committed against women. These topics don’t get lost in the context of COVID, but are rather brought to the forefront of the story. 

Not only is there a global pandemic going on, but now we’ve got a serial killer on the loose. 

Cora Zeng is a timid, fly-under-the-radar twenty-something Chinese American woman living in New York City during the height of a global pandemic. She shares an apartment with her seemingly perfect sister—beautiful, confident, the perfect catch. 

After what feels like a never-ending scavenger hunt for a pack of toilet paper in a city that has seemingly run out, the two sisters stand on the subway platform, waiting for the train that will take them back to their apartment in Chinatown.

Suddenly, a hooded, masked man appears in the nearly empty subway station and pushes Deliah in front of an oncoming train, killing her on impact. Cora then hears the white man whisper under his breath bat eater. 

The feeling of being unremarkable, or even useless, is something people don’t talk about very often: the sense that you’re not really changing, just coasting through the same routine every day until life starts to feel monotonous.

In the wake of her sister’s death, Cora takes a job as a crime scene cleaner. While working, she begins to notice a disturbing pattern in the murders of Asian women in Chinatown: bats. Bats left in the mouths of the bodies, bats in the air vents, bats hidden in the crevices of the victims’ apartments. Not only is there a global pandemic going on, but now we’ve got a serial killer on the loose. 

There were so many things I enjoyed about this book, especially the characters. Cora was particularly interesting to me because she sees herself as unremarkable, having always followed Delilah wherever she went, from college to their life in New York. She even admits that she sometimes hated Delilah, or rather resented her.

...they’re all deeply flawed and traumatized, but aren’t we all! 

The feeling of being unremarkable, or even useless, is something people don’t talk about very often: the sense that you’re not really changing, just coasting through the same routine every day until life starts to feel monotonous. That’s part of what made the story so relatable. It captures that quiet uncertainty, but it’s also about finding your footing when a piece of your life is suddenly gone. There’s a push and pull to it. Yes, Cora resented her sister while she was alive, but now that she’s gone, Cora has to face the reality of being alone. 

One way Cora begins to navigate the aftermath of her sister’s death is through the friendships she forms with Harvey and Yifei, her crime scene cleanup partners. I thought these two were great characters, very different from one another, but they complement each other and Cora wonderfully. It’s always really cool to see when authors create such fully realized characters, where they aren't completely perfect, in fact they’re all deeply flawed and traumatized, but aren’t we all! 

The book strikes a really strong balance between harsh realities, like the very real micro aggressions, public harassment, and shaming that Cora and many Asian Americans face, and its thriller and horror elements, including the cultural horror of hungry ghosts. It was fascinating to learn more about that aspect of Chinese culture. I especially loved reading about the joss paper offerings used to honor the dead, as well as the haunting idea that many spirits go hungry when they are forgotten or left without offerings.

I wish the horror had been stronger. Maybe I’m just so desensitized to scares...

I did find that, although the book had such a strong start, I mean, the first chapter was probably one of the most tense scenes I’ve ever read, the second half felt very slow. And I didn’t necessarily feel scared, but I did feel like I was gnawing at the bars of my enclosure, trying to figure out the madness behind the bats and how Cora would manage to tame the hungry ghosts. I wish the horror had been stronger. Maybe I’m just so desensitized to scares these days, but I was really craving something more petrifying when it came to the ghosts. And the humor, albeit funny, sometimes softened the tension when I wanted the horror to lean in a darker direction.

Despite this, Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng is unlike anything I’ve read. It really expanded my perspective on identity and, most importantly, on how grief can change a person, forcing you to confront things you might otherwise be too afraid to face. From her strained yet close relationship with her sister, to her search for community, and her journey to connect with a culture that doesn’t always feel like her own, Cora’s story is both unsettling and deeply human.