While Asian women have long been icons in film, from Sadako to Shutter, it took English-language literature a little longer to feature an Asian woman as a central character in a ghost or horror tale.
The prevalence of female ghosts across Asia has always been fascinating to me, with their origins rooted in notions of femininity and lost motherhood, and their simultaneous embodiment of alienation, frightening empowerment, and freedom from restrictive gender norms. For example, several women artists in Singapore and Malaysia have struck a chord with them with complex and sympathetic interpretations of the vampire Pontianak.
Meanwhile, the marginalization of women living both in Asia and the diaspora creates social issues and deep-seated trauma whose darkness begins with systemic roots. Often, Asian horror by women is explicitly intersectional, especially from the perspective of queer writers.
In my novel, The Dark We Know, Chinese-American art student Isadora Chang returns to her remote mountain hometown for her abusive father's funeral. But the return forces her to confront everything she's kept suppressed: her strained relationship with her quiet, housebound mother, a haunted house, the sudden suicides of two friends and a reunion with a third she left behind, the religious community she retreated to, a nightmarish painting she didn't remember making, and a supernatural presence that abducts the town's children. And yet the novel is as much about healing as it is about haunting, and about claiming the right to survive.
These are books about haunted Asian girls and women. There are ghosts and terrifying hallucinations in the literal sense, but also other kinds of underlying spectres: violent patriarchy, colonialism, racism, troubled families, grief, unresolved injustices. Ultimately, these things themselves create ghosts.
“Vegetarian” by Han Kang
In Han Kang's Booker Prize-winning novel, a Korean woman is haunted by nightmares about slaughter and decides to reject meat-eating in favor of becoming a more “plant-like” person — a decision that brings her into increasing conflict with the patriarchal, rigidly submissive social norms that surround her. A dark and surreal book about meat-eating, patriarchy, abuse and female independence, The Vegetarian is a book I find myself returning to again and again.
She's a Ghost, by Tran Thanh Tran
Closeted gay man Jade Nguyen reluctantly travels to Vietnam for the first time to spend the summer with his estranged father at the old French mansion he has renovated into a bed and breakfast. But while the mansion is lush and seemingly idyllic, Jade's relationships with his father and Vietnam are strained. Jade is falling for a beautiful, cantankerous and sharp girl. A ghostly bride tells her not to eat, and the Flower House is haunted by colonial history and bloodshed, staining it far beyond the Nguyen family's troubles. The desires of the house, the ghosts, and Jade's own are rich and greedy.
“House of Dreams” by Christina Lee
In another Sapphic Gothic, the daughters of Hollywood's pioneering Chinese actress gather in a sprawling mansion for the reading of a will that will be bestowed to another estranged family. But both families soon discover that the mansion is home to something entirely different. Told across three generations in two timelines, Lee's taut and dreamy adult debut traces its roots through pernicious ambition, sadness and the curse of the American Dream.
“How Much Gold Is in These Hills?” by C. Pam Chan
When their abusive father dies in the Wild West, two young Chinese sisters are left penniless and orphaned, and they take his body on horseback to the frontier, searching for his burial site. The book is a journey through a strange, desolate, vast landscape littered with tales of skeletons, tigers and dragons. A tale of an immigrant family's tragedy amid the dust of the Gold Rush. How Much of These Hills Is Gold isn't a very traditional ghost story, but it's certainly haunted nonetheless.
“Black Water Sister” by Zen Cho
Malaysian-American Jess returns to her grandmother's house in Penang accompanied by her grandmother's ghost, who confronts her about being a lesbian and sends her on a journey to resolve the issue. Unfortunately, Ah Ma has a problem: she is a medium for a vengeful god known as the Black Water Sister, and she has her eye on Jess. The book delves into a uniquely Malaysian-Chinese world of gods, ghosts, gangsters and family. Cho's work is always fantastical, witty and heartfelt, and even in its darkest moments, as a Singaporean, this was a domestic ghostly occurrence.
The Hysterical Girls of Saint Bernadette by Hannah Alkaff
Another Malaysian novel. An elite girls' boarding school is suddenly hit by a wave of screaming hysteria. Two girls dig into the school's history in search of the truth, unaware that something else still lurks in the darkness. Alkaff explores mental health, trauma, healing and the image of the perfect girls' school that's no longer perfect.
“The Forest of Stolen Girls” by June Ha
An atmospheric historical mystery set on Jeju Island, Korea. Hwan-i returns to her home village to investigate the disappearance of her father in the forest, where 13 beautiful girls were also abducted and where Hwan-i and her sister were once found near their bodies. Rumors of a white masked man whisper among the trees, and Hwan-i and her estranged shaman sister must unravel buried memories to find the truth.
Bat Eaters and Other Names for Cora Zeng by Kylie Lee Baker
It's Hungry Ghost Month and the gates of hell are open in New York's Chinatown. Crime scene cleaner Cora Zeng is already traumatized by the murder of her sister, who was pushed in front of a train by a bat-eating man. She's also haunted by mysterious bite marks, bacteria, strange hands, and the repeated discovery of dead bats at the murder scenes of East Asian women. In her horror debut, Lee Baker delivers a subversive and stark take on anti-Asian violence in America.
The Best Part of Your Eyes by Monica Kim
In Monica Kim's debut novel, a Korean-American college student becomes obsessed with eyes, specifically blue eyes. She sees blue eyes in her dreams. She sees blue eyes all around campus. She sees blue eyes in the mind of her mother's horrible, Asian-crazy white boyfriend and imagines how she'd crush them between her teeth. Cannibalism and growing up intersect sharply and deliciously with themes of sexism and fetishism. In this one, she's the killer.
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