Dark, unsettling, and beautifully written — and weirdly timed for me in the most fitting way possible

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng by Kylie Lee Baker completely sank its claws into me from the first page. I’ve always loved horror with folklore at its core, but this took it to another level — eerie, brutal, and layered with real emotional weight. The story pulls no punches, exploring grief, identity, rage, and belonging, all wrapped up in this beautifully grotesque world that feels ancient and immediate all at once.

The main character is honestly one of my favourite things about the book. She’s raw, angry, flawed, and entirely unapologetic — I loved that her pain and rage weren’t softened for the reader’s sake. There’s a real power in how Baker lets her be complex, how the story doesn’t shy away from the ugly parts of grief or the messiness of survival. She felt so real — and I say that as someone who was, quite literally, surviving my own little ordeal while reading.

About halfway through this book — after managing to avoid it for the entire pandemic — I finally came down with Covid. Typical. One minute I’m just enjoying some dark, atmospheric reading, the next I’m curled up, feverish, aching, and feeling like I’ve been dragged through the underworld myself. Weirdly though, the timing almost worked. The fever, the exhaustion, the general sense of unease — it all made Baker’s haunting, blood-soaked world feel even more vivid. It was like reading through a haze where the line between fiction and reality blurred just a little. Honestly, not the reading experience I’d planned, but kind of perfect in its own messed-up way.

Even through the brain fog, I couldn’t put it down. The horror is visceral and slow-burning, with folklore creatures, body horror, and a creeping dread that gets under your skin. The world-building is rich, unsettling, and full of sharp edges. And the writing? Absolutely stunning. Lyrical but grounded, poetic without ever losing its punch — I found myself rereading sentences just to appreciate how beautifully they were crafted.

There are so many layers too — cultural identity, generational trauma, queerness — all woven seamlessly into the narrative. It never feels preachy or heavy-handed, just natural, like these truths have always been part of the world Baker’s created.

By the end, I felt wrung out in the best way. Bat Eater is exactly the kind of horror I love — dark, meaningful, and impossible to shake off. If you like folklore, flawed protagonists, and stories that aren’t afraid to rip you apart a bit before they’re done with you, you need to read this.

Covid may have finally caught me, but at least I had Bat Eater to keep me company through the worst of it — and honestly? I couldn’t have picked a better book to be feverish and slightly delirious with.