Grief and Unresolved Trauma in Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng
Introduction: The Wound That Refuses to Heal
In Bat Eater and Other Names for Cora Zeng, Kylie Lee Baker weaves a horror story rooted in the all-too-real pandemic-era racism that targets Asian women. At its emotional core lies a single, devastating loss: the murder of Cora’s half-sister, Delilah, pushed onto subway tracks by a white stranger who called them “bat eater.” Cora never processes this trauma—she cannot mourn, cannot speak of it, and cannot let go. Instead, her frozen grief becomes a literal presence: Delilah returns as a hungry ghost, Cora’s rituals to appease her sister spiral into obsessive compulsion, and the unresolved pain ultimately drives Cora toward a violent, public reclamation of the slur that killed Delilah. This analysis traces that thematic arc across three key plot developments, connects it to the novel’s symbols and supporting characters, and examines the complex way Cora’s trauma both consumes and transforms her.
The Haunting: Grief Made Flesh
Cora’s inability to mourn manifests first as Delilah’s ghost. After the murder, Cora does not hold a funeral or burn joss paper—acts that would traditionally help a spirit find peace. Instead, she buries herself in dead-end work cleaning crime scenes, avoiding any ritual that might force her to confront her loss. Delilah’s spirit, denied proper rites, becomes a hungry ghost: starving, suffering, and desperate for attention. Cora sees her in shadows, feels her presence, and eventually discovers that Delilah wants to show her something—a flash drive containing evidence of a serial killer targeting Asian women. This haunting is not merely supernatural; it is the externalization of Cora’s own untreated grief. Every time she flinches at a dark corner, every time she drinks to numb the memory of the train platform, she is feeding the ghost inside herself. The joss paper and orange offerings that appear later are attempts to quiet that internal scream, but until Cora names her pain, the ghost will not rest.
Obsessive Rituals: Trying to Control What Cannot Be Controlled
Cora’s unresolved trauma drives her into a series of compulsive behaviors. She cleans crime scenes—bodies of Asian women who were murdered, often by copycat killers—as if scrubbing away blood can scrub away memory. She clings to Delilah’s belongings, builds an altar with her half-sister’s photo and perfume, and participates in a ghost feast with her coworkers Harvey and Yifei. But these rituals are hollow because Cora performs them without belief. She does not offer the food with real intent to release Delilah; she only wants the ghost to stop following her. As Yifei warns, keeping a hungry ghost around is never a good idea. Cora ignores this, driven by a desperate need to stay connected to the sister she never properly said goodbye to. This obsession reaches its peak when Cora discovers the scope of the violence: hundreds of Asian women murdered, their cases swept aside by a corrupt police force. Cora channels her personal grief into a crusade for justice, but that crusade is itself a form of avoidance. She would rather pursue a killer than sit with the silence of her own empty apartment.
Confrontation: Reclaiming the Slur, Burning the World
The climax of Cora’s arc occurs when she is harassed on the street by a white man who calls her “bat eater”—the same slur shouted at Delilah. Instead of freezing or fleeing, Cora screams the words back: “I am a fucking bat eater!” She actively adopts the hateful label, transforming it from a weapon used against her into a shield of defiance. This reclamation is both powerful and troubling. It gives Cora agency but also aligns her with the very dehumanization that killed her sister. She descends into the closed East Broadway station, jumps onto the tracks, and is joined by hundreds of hungry ghosts—the murdered Asian women from Officer Wang’s photographs. Cora leads them to Gracie Mansion and sets the mayor’s residence on fire, a literal act of rage against the institutions that failed to protect women like Delilah. This confrontation is not about healing; it is about expression. Cora finally allows her grief to spill over, but the release is destruction, not peace. The bat—first found in a drain, later associated with the slur—becomes a symbol of both vilification and power. The jade bracelet that breaks in the car crash marks the shattering of any illusion that Cora can protect those she loves.
Complexity: Agency Without Resolution
The novel does not offer a simple redemption arc. Cora’s revenge does not bring Delilah back, nor does it end the cycle of violence. Harvey and Yifei are both killed, and Cora’s final ritual—offering half an orange to a ghostly hand and eating the other half herself—is ambiguous. She reclaims agency over fear, but the grief remains unresolved. In the Author’s Note, Baker contextualizes this: the pandemic era’s true horror was the sacrifice of the vulnerable and the erosion of trust. Cora’s story mirrors that larger collapse. She cannot “move on” from Delilah’s death because the social conditions that made it possible are ongoing. The unresolved trauma is not a personal failure; it is a systemic wound. Yet Baker also insists that joy and achievement can follow pain. Cora’s final gesture—praying sincerely for the first time—suggests that even unresolved grief can open a door to new forms of connection. The ghosts do not vanish, but Cora stops running from them.
Character Connections: How Others Reflect Cora’s Grief
The people around Cora each represent a different response to trauma. Auntie Zeng embodies traditional ritual: she builds altars, offers protection, and guides Cora through the lantern release. Yifei Liu is pragmatic, grounding Cora with food and tough love, but she carries her own scars (the scar on her ribs). Harvey Chen tries to lighten the darkness with humor and absurd rituals, like burying a bat with a funeral. Delilah Zeng herself, even in death, remains aloof—she never hugs Cora back, but she shows up when Cora needs her most. And Auntie Lois, though peripheral, represents the Christian community that offers surface-level niceness without understanding the depth of Cora’s pain.
Study Questions and Answers
1. How does Cora’s refusal to perform traditional mourning rites directly cause Delilah to become a hungry ghost? Cora never burns joss paper or holds a funeral, so Delilah’s spirit cannot transition to the afterlife. In Chinese folk belief, hungry ghosts are those who died violently and were not properly sent off. Cora’s avoidance—she cannot bear to say goodbye—traps Delilah in a state of suffering, which manifests as literal haunting.
2. In what ways do the bat and the jade bracelet function as symbols of unresolved trauma? The bat appears first in a drain at Yuxi He’s crime scene, later in the slur “bat eater,” and finally as a symbol Cora reclaims. It represents the filth and danger that society projects onto Asian women. The jade bracelet, given by Auntie Zeng for protection, breaks during the car crash that kills Yifei—signifying the failure of external safeguards to shield Cora from further loss.
3. Why does Cora’s act of jumping onto the subway tracks represent both surrender and empowerment? Cora returns to the site of Delilah’s murder, mirroring her sister’s fall. But instead of dying, she walks the tracks and is joined by a crowd of hungry ghosts. The act repeats her trauma but with a new outcome: she leads, not falls. It is a literal re-enactment that allows her to rewrite a helpless moment into one of command, however temporary.
4. How do Harvey and Yifei represent different approaches to dealing with grief, and why do their deaths affect Cora so deeply? Harvey tries to laugh through the horror, burying bats and making jokes. Yifei insists on practical rituals (cooking a ghost feast, building an altar). Both offer Cora connection without judgment. Their violent deaths strip away the last supports Cora has, forcing her to confront her grief alone—but also to realize that their humanity outlives their bodies.
5. What is the significance of the final offering of an orange in the dark? In Chapter Twenty-Five, Cora offers half an orange to a ghostly hand and eats the other half herself. This act reverses the dynamic of fear: instead of being consumed, she shares. The orange symbolizes sustenance and the willingness to coexist with the dead rather than exorcise them. It is a fragile, unresolved peace.