Delving into Darkness: A Review of Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng by F. R. Wu
As I dove into Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng, I was immediately struck by the weight of its premise. The author, F. R. Wu, deftly navigates the complexities of identity, grief, and societal prejudice through the lens of a biracial girl, Cora Zeng, whose life is upended amidst a wave of anti-Asian violence during the pandemic. My heart raced as I read the chilling quote, “Everyone wants Asian girls to look pretty. No one wants them to talk.” It encapsulates the heart of this powerful narrative and set the stage for a journey that is both harrowing and beautiful.
Cora’s story begins in April 2020, when she witnesses the murder of her sister on a subway platform—an event that shatters her reality. The narrative then transports us to August 2020, a time when Cora grapples with her sister’s death while trying to navigate the isolating landscape of a world gripped by fear and hate. Joining a crime scene cleanup crew in Chinatown becomes a means for Cora to not only confront her grief but to also investigate a pattern of violence against Asian women that haunts her community. The supernatural element of Cora possibly seeing her sister’s ghost adds an ethereal layer to her search for answers—what is a hungry ghost if not a metaphor for the unresolved pain and the weight of cultural expectations?
The themes of identity and belonging resonate deeply throughout the novel. Cora feels caught in a perpetual limbo between her Chinese heritage and her American existence, a struggle that many biracial individuals can relate to. As someone who shares a similar background—my dad is Asian and my mom is white—I found solace in Cora’s journey, and it felt like a mirror reflecting my own fears and anxieties into the narrative. The vivid portrayal of her internal turmoil and the haunting memories of her sister created moments of intense connection for me, especially when Cora confronts her health anxieties, a struggle I am all too familiar with.
Wu’s writing is hauntingly poetic, plunging the reader into the depths of Cora’s psyche with every scene. The pacing felt deliberate, allowing for thoughtful reflection amidst the rawness of the events unfolding. One standout moment echoes with the chilling reality many faced during the pandemic—Cora’s visit to the optometrist, where her thoughts spiral into health anxiety. It should come as no surprise that I found myself nodding in empathy, remembering my own experiences navigating the healthcare system after 2020.
This book doesn’t shy away from the darkness. The graphic depictions of violence against Asian women serve as a stark reminder of the harrowing truths of our world. Wu handles these topics with both sensitivity and brutality, crafting a narrative that is as unsettling as it is necessary. Content warnings have never felt more relevant—readers should approach this book with care, ensuring they’re in a safe mental space to digest these powerful themes.
In conclusion, Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng is more than just a gripping mystery or a tale of grief; it’s a poignant reflection on identity and the search for peace in a fractured world. Readers who appreciate dark, thought-provoking narratives, especially those who resonate with immigrant experiences, will find much to cherish in Cora’s journey. As I closed the book, I felt a strange blend of heaviness and hope—a testament to the profound way this story impacted me. I’m already looking forward to discussing this compelling read with fellow book lovers and reflecting on its significance in our increasingly complicated reality.
Discover more about Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng on GoodReads >>