Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng

“Bat eater. Cora has heard those words a lot the past two months. The end of the world began at a wet market in Wuhan, they say, with a sick bat. Cora has never once eaten a bat, but it has somehow become common knowledge that Chinese people eat bats just to start plagues.”

The term “bat eater” is a racist slur used against Asian people, and Cora hears Delilah’s killer call her this before pushing her in front of the train. Appearing in novel’s title as well, the term is a key motif in the book, underlining the hatred and xenophobia the East Asian community faces during the pandemic. Cora’s reflection offers some insight into the context behind the term, while also foreshadowing the reappearance of the bat motif at the murders Cora will encounter over the next few months. With the term appearing here and the bats appearing at the following crime scenes, Baker signals how the deaths of these young women are undeniably hate crimes, introducing The Invisibility and Erasure of Marginalized Victims.

“Maybe she wants someone to teach her how to be a human the correct way, the way she never learned. Someone to wake her up and tell her what to eat, what to dream about, what to cry about, who to pray to […] But you can’t teach someone how to be a person. Cora was never real, she was only an echo of Delilah, and with her gone, she is no one at all.”

Cora reflects on how she wishes someone would teach her to be a “person,” as she doesn’t think of herself as one; she believes she was merely an “echo” of Delilah. Cora’s internal monologue in these moments explains the depth of bereavement she feels at Delilah’s loss, as her entire sense of self is now on shaky grounds. Ironically, while Cora views herself as insubstantial, she is the one still present and alive, able to enact change. This is a realization she eventually comes to over the course of the book, after she encounters beings that are actually echoes—the “hungry ghosts.”

“Cora is good at telling when people aren’t listening to her—like Auntie Lois, who hears her voice and nods and hums in all the right places but the words never seem to sink in—and Cora knows that her thoughts don’t reach anyone at all. Cora only sees darkness behind her eyelids, a black wall where God is supposed to be, a locked door in a tiny room.”

In church, Cora reflects on how she doesn’t believe God is listening to her. She compares the feeling of not being listened to with how Aunt Lois treats her, but significantly, feels less pressured—albeit still as unheard—when she prays to Auntie Zeng’s gods. This passage is significant for two reasons. First, it illustrates the lack of real connection Cora has with her Aunt Lois, who doesn’t truly “see” Cora’s feelings or experiences. Second, Aunt Lois’s privileged status as a white American woman and her invalidation or lack of acknowledgment of Cora’s lived experiences underlines all the surreptitious ways in which The Invisibility and Erasure of Marginalized Victims takes place in society.

“Axes don’t just slide in and out of skulls like knives into butter. They splinter bones and get stuck, have to be wrenched out, hefted back overhead, and plunged back in again. You can’t hack someone to death gently, there needs to be force behind it, and that force—not the blade—is what tears the bodies apart, leaving messes for people like Cora to clean up […] Whoever killed Zihan Huang wanted it.”

After finding a victim who has been killed by an axe, Cora reflects on how desperately the person who killed her must have wanted to hurt her to choose this mode of murder. The detailed language Baker employs here is characteristic of how the instances of graphic violence are presented throughout the book. This is a deliberate narrative choice, forcing the reader to contend with the raw horror that lies behind such acts of hatred and violence. It also underscores the intensity of this kind of hatred, for this kind of violence to be enacted upon any people at all, which further engenders empathy and understanding for The Invisibility and Erasure of Marginalized Victims.

“News of the mayor’s increased police budget broke the week after a cop shot an unarmed man in Florida, and the protests have only increased as Mayor Webb uttered the words ‘running for reelection.’ Cora should feel angry—she knows that more police wouldn’t have saved Delilah, but all she feels is that the sky is a dome sinking lower and lower, trapping her in a world that she hates but can never escape.”

As Cora heads home from the optometrist, she comes across flyers about protests in the city, which triggers this reflection. This passage is important for two reasons. It introduces Mayor Webb and his pro-police agenda alongside his disregard for the fates of marginalized communities in his city, which are important elements to the story at large. Second, it once again underlines how Cora, at the beginning of the story, is a person incapable of anger because she feels trapped underneath all the helplessness she feels.

“But she wonders now if she’s been splintering ever since that day, if one night she quietly crossed over an invisible line and now it’s not a problem she can stuff under her bed any longer. Cora is used to terror, a worry that wrings your organs out and carves holes in you like termites in wooden furniture, but if enough of you is devoured, soon there’s nothing left of you but what was, and Cora is starting to feel full of holes, like Yifei can look straight through her.”

Cora arrives at Yifei’s apartment desperate to talk about the supernatural experiences she has been having which she believes, at this point, are a result of her overactive imagination. Cora’s tendency to worry about her mental state highlights the mental health issues she has faced in the past and continues to face, which contextualizes why she struggles with taking action. However, this moment also marks a turning point for Cora: Rather than keep her concerns to herself, this is one of the first instances where Cora actively reaches outwards for validation and support. This is the beginning of Cora’s slow progress though grief and worry and towards healing.

“But now, in this dark, moldy crypt, Father Thomas is telling her that there are people in his congregation who fear her. There are thousands of monsters in the world—not just the ones in folktales, but the ones in real life who push girls in front of trains—and yet, there are still people who think Cora Zeng is the most fearsome of all.”

Cora processes Father Thomas’s assertion that she is welcome in the church despite other people’s worries about her presence there, which invokes The Parallels Between Supernatural Horror and Societal Violence. This passage sums up the central message of the book, underlining why Baker has chosen to intertwine these two elements: The “hungry ghosts” in the book are presented in eerie, frightening ways, but ultimately it is the terror of deliberate acts of human violence that win out as the more fearsome. Cora’s reflection here highlights the absurdity of racism and xenophobia, especially people’s fear of people like her, in the face of the grotesque violence that is being enacted upon her community.

“It didn’t feel that way at the time, but it was one of the kindest things Delilah ever said. She gave Cora something better than an abstract idea of love: a promise. That whenever Cora drew too close to the ledge, Delilah would be there. Cora should have known better than to believe her […] Delilah left her in life and in death, and she is never coming back.”

Cora reflects on Delilah’s childhood promise to Cora that she would always be there for her, as they were sisters; however, this promise was broken by Delilah’s death, and was possibly going to be abandoned even while Delilah was alive, as she had been planning to move to China without Cora. Cora’s feelings of abandonment and resentment are thrown into sharp relief in this passage, explaining the depths of her dependency on Delilah, as well as contextualizing this dependency: For a child dealing with serious mental health challenges, including suicidal ideation, Delilah had served as a literal lifeline. Her loss has been monumental for Cora, which also explains Cora’s willingness to later engage with the “hungry ghost” she believes to be Delilah, counterintuitive to the fear she should be feeling.

“A jade bracelet swings slowly back and forth on its wrist, rattling against the bones. A gold plate glimmers on the bottom, but Cora cannot read it […] She reaches forward because she needs to know, the unknowing is worse than the knowing. Her fingers close around the cold jade, turning the bracelet until the gold plate is on the top, light glinting off the Chinese character for hope.”

When faced with the “hungry ghost” in her apartment, rather than run away immediately in fear, Cora almost feels anticipation at the possibility that this could be Delilah. Her decision to approach the ghost to identify the jade bracelet underlines this yearning to have Delilah back in her life in some form, speaking to Folk Ritual as Pathway to Healing from Grief. The jade bracelet is what convinces Cora that the ghost is Delilah after all, as the sisters had matching bracelets like these. It is symbolic that the ghost wears one with the Chinese character for “hope,” as this is what the encounter induces in Cora, rather than outright fear.

“I am not going to let anyone take away what makes me a human. Because that’s what this guy is doing, Harvey. You blast people to bits or hack them apart because you don’t see them as human—you take away the shape of their body and then no one else can see them as human either.”

Yifei explains her reasons for wanting to go to the press about the murders, and Cora reflects on her own passivity in the wake of Yifei’s fiery outburst. Yifei’s speech underscores the theme of The Invisibility and Erasure of Marginalized Victims. As Cora earlier noted about the woman who was killed by an axe, it takes an intense desire to hurt for someone to kill this way, and Yifei’s assertions here underline that such intense violence is possible because the victims are not seen as humans in the eyes of their killers. The violence and cruelty with which they are killed is almost akin to those enacted upon the bats at the crime scene.

“Delilah is like this because of me, Cora thinks. But she turns back to the reporter, to Yifei’s tense expression, and remembers that no, that’s not exactly true. It’s because of someone else too. Her skin itches as if covered in spiders.”

When speaking to the reporter, Cora catches herself feeling guilty about the state to which her sister has been reduced; however, for perhaps the first time, she sees that responsibility for Delilah’s death lies outside of herself, with something much larger. Cora’s realization of this has been spurned by her repeated encounters with both the “hungry ghost” and the numerous murders of East Asian women she has now seen. She finally begins to feel something beyond helplessness about Delilah’s death, beginning to emerge from her passivity.

“It’s one thing to commute to a crime scene, to see the broken locks on the front door held in place by tiny screws, or the shattered garden-level windows. It’s another thing entirely to see how weak the doors of your own building truly are, to know that the walls you want to think are impenetrable are no obstacle for someone who truly wants to break in.”

Cora discovers that someone has been killed in her apartment building; more terrifyingly, she discovers a footprint on her apartment door, indicating that someone has tried to break in there, too. As Cora’s interactions with the supernatural intensify, so, too, does the threat of death at human hands. The horror and suspense in the book stem from both these elements, and they rise to a crescendo together throughout the narrative, reinforcing The Parallels Between Supernatural Horror and Societal Violence.

“She doesn’t like knowing more about the crime scenes, doesn’t like seeing who the people used to be. Tears well in her eyes and Cora knows she’s doing a good job of pretending to be a grieving widow, but the secretary doesn’t understand that you don’t have to know someone to mourn them, that Cora has seen this man be unmade, and now she knows what his smile used to look like, the smile that was blasted off his face with a machine gun.”

Cora is led by the “hungry ghost” to the police precinct where Officer Wang used to work, pretending to be his widow to collect information about the murders. Before she leaves, the secretary hands her a photograph of Officer Wang to take back with her, and Cora is moved to tears. Cora is beginning to feel stronger connections to, and empathy for, the victims of these murders, as evidenced by the pain she feels at seeing the photograph. This builds up to the rage she eventually feels when she discovers the truth about the murders.

“‘It doesn’t matter what I think,’ Cora says. Half the things she thinks aren’t even real. Thoughts are nothing at all, they come from nowhere and disappear into nothing and you can’t wade in their river as they pass by—that’s what her therapist said. But Cora knows that her therapist means Cora’s thoughts, not everyone’s thoughts.”

Cora tells Harvey that she is willing to test out his jiangshi theory despite what she thinks about it, as she often disregards her own opinions about things. Cora’s internal monologue here sheds light on how she continues to think of herself as insubstantial and ineffectual. Her passivity stems not from a lack of feeling, but from a self-conception that paints herself as having no worth, value, or power enough to impact anything around her.

“‘Maybe someone died in your basement,’ Cora says. ‘Yeah,’ Harvey says softly, ‘someone did.’ Then he rolls over, his back to Cora as she processes his words. Harvey knows exactly who died, she thinks, but Harvey whispers something that sounds like ‘good night,’ and Cora won’t ask any more questions.”

Harvey tells Cora about the ghost he encountered in his basement, and there is the distinct sense that Harvey is holding back something about the story. This is echoed in his refusal to talk about his father and the time he was forced to spend down in the basement. This reticence is what comes to define Harvey’s life—the inability to openly share the truth about tragedy or trauma—and it impacts when and why he dies as well: Harvey is killed before he is able to reveal to Yifei and Cora what he discovers about the murders.

“It’s not about my gods or your Auntie Lois’s God being the right one. There are thousands of gods that open thousands of doors to anyone who knocks. It’s about deciding which doors you want to open.”

Auntie Zeng tells Cora that there is no right or wrong way to seek answers and arrive at solace. This approach stands in sharp contrast to Aunt Lois’s, who insists on Cora’s attendance at church every Sunday as a condition for her helping with Cora’s student loan repayments. Aunt Lois’s rigid and single-minded approach that leaves no room for experiences unlike her own is what eventually drives Cora away from her and towards Auntie Zeng. The two aunts are painted as contrasting characters in the book, with one representing what Cora from healing, and the other offering the path forward instead through Folk Ritual as a Pathway to Healing from Grief.

“Cora sinks her fingers into the carpet, hangs her head, breathes through the sudden wave of nausea, hears nothing but a faraway train, the loudest sound in the world. But she can also feel something new, joss paper burning in her chest, a kind of hurt that she wants to lean into, to feel more brilliantly. It is different from the kind of hurt that makes her want to scratch off her own skin. This pain is a fever that makes her feel more alive in its awfulness, the kind of ache that reminds you that you are, that there is something left inside you.”

Cora pieces together the shredded paper from Officer Wang’s office which reveals the faces of 10 potential suspects, white men who all belong to neo-Nazi groups. Alongside her grief over one of them having killed Delilah, Cora also suddenly feels a pain that makes her feel alive and demands action—the kind of fire that Yifei displayed earlier, when she demanded they talk to the press. Cora is beginning to see that suffering and tragedy has touched other people around her, not just her. This allows her to slowly emerge out of her isolation, and the rage she begins to feel on behalf of the others who were killed is a sign of her growing connection to a larger community of people besides just Delilah.

“The thought sickens her, the idea that the kind of person who carves people like her open could smile at other people. That he could be loved by other people. Because what does that make Delilah and Yuxi and Zihan and Ai and Officer Wang? Subhuman, bat eaters, garbage to be taken out, people who don’t deserve his humanness.”

When Harvey calls Cora with the news that he has figured out who is behind the murders, Cora contemplates how she does not want to put a name and face to the monster she imagines the killer to be. Humanizing the killer would simultaneously mean dehumanizing people like Delilah and Officer Wang, who were exposed to the worst parts of a man who also has a human side. This reflection reiterates The Invisibility and Erasure of Marginalized Victims, particularly the role that dehumanization plays in the violence and atrocities they face. By reducing East Asian people to stereotypes that are unclean and evoke revulsion—using the term “bat eater,” for instance—racists paint them as subhuman, ignore their perspectives and existences, and act violently towards them.

“Cora is supposed to be the one who falls apart. She’s very good at it. But she’s so stupidly convinced that once she makes it to Auntie Lois, everything will be fine. All she has to do is drive there and her aunt will tell her what to do, how to handle this. White women are good at handling crimes, right? They call the cops, who listen to them. They get the bad guys thrown in jail. The cops will protect someone who looks like Auntie Lois, who lives in the kind of house she lives in.”

After Harvey is murdered, Cora is sure she and Yifei are in trouble, and her first thought is to get to Aunt Lois. Her decision to go to the aunt who has been unempathetic and unhelpful over the one who has been concerned and welcoming underscores the power and privilege that race holds: Cora needs, in the moment, simply to survive, and she knows that she has a better chance of doing so with her white aunt than her Chinese one, when the threat of danger is coming from human beings.

“I know you thought I was insane, that you thought all I could do was echo everything you did but quieter. I know you didn’t want me to go to the same college as you, and that you only lived with me because you knew no one else would […] I knew how much of a shitty person you were. Sometimes I hated you and hated myself even more because of you, but I still would have followed you anywhere, Delilah, because no matter how awful things got, I thought I’d survive because I’d always have you.”

After Yifei, too, is killed, the “hungry ghost” appears, and Cora embraces its figure in pain before venting all the anger and resentment she feels towards Delilah for leaving her, reinforcing Folk Ritual as Pathway to Healing from Grief. This passage offers a glimpse into the relationship Cora and Delilah shared—fraught, complicated, and intensely intertwined. This insight into Cora’s past helps contextualize how much progress she has actually made over the course of the book, as she moves from such deep dependency and low self-worth towards than surviving on her own and forming real and healthy connections with others along the way.

“The living are good at forgetting, the years smoothing out memories until all the days of their lives are nothing but rolling planes of sameness.”

Auntie Zeng’s wisdom on ghost month runs as interludes throughout the main narrative of the book. This last one sums up the possibility of Cora being able to move on—she is still alive, and so with the passage of time and the numbing of memories, healing is possible. Thus, although Cora begins her journey with the self-belief that she is only an “echo” and is not a real person, by the end of the book, she is the only one left standing: Delilah, Harvey, and Yifei are all dead. This foreshadows her ability to move on and heal from her past.

“But the White Spider in Cora’s dreams was a million different people—the man who spit in Cora’s face, the one who grabbed Yifei’s arm, the ones who called Delilah a Chink and threw garbage at her, the quiet ones on buses who glared at Cora for wearing a mask, who crossed the street to avoid her like she was a living breathing virus even though she was cleaner than any of them, the words China virus like a poison promise, go back home, repent for killing Americans.”

Cora contemplates how, in her reimaginings, the man who killed Delilah, the “White Spider,” has taken on numerous different faces and personas, invoking The Parallels Between Supernatural Horror and Societal Violence. This is symbolic of how although Delilah was murdered by one man, she was actually killed by something deeper, more sinister, and widespread—the hateful rhetoric that is spouted and repeated about the Asian community, especially during the pandemic. Baker draws on the reality of anti-Asian sentiment to craft this storyline in the book, and the essence of it is encapsulated in this internal monologue of Cora’s.

“The tunnel, as far back as Cora can see, is filled with hungry ghosts. Like a field of gray flowers, their heads gently bob and sway, their shapes growing hazy the farther back they go. Hundreds of them. And for a single moment, Cora does not see their withered faces and empty eyes. She sees the faces in Officer Wang’s photographs, back when they had skin and eyes. The hundreds of girls torn apart, stripped of their dreams and then their bodies, suffering even in death.”

Cora finally comes face-to-face with the hundreds of “hungry ghosts,” all victims of hate crimes, on her way to the mayor’s mansion, invoking The Parallels Between Supernatural Horror and Societal Violence. However, her fear of the ghosts has been entirely erased upon learning their stories. Instead, she now feels understanding and empathy for them, and rage for what was done to them. Where the terror induced both by the supernatural and the societal peak together in the book, one dissipates entirely while the other emerges as the clear villain: The ghosts are no longer to be feared, especially when juxtaposed against what made them ghosts in the first place.