I have a lot of mixed feelings about this book. First of all, I have tremendous admiration for its author. Yi Zheng, an alumnus of the 1989 Tiananmen Square uprising now living in exile in the U.S., was investigating and exposing the excesses of the Cultural Revolution in the 1980s, during what seems to have been a brief Prague Spring of glasnost and self-examination (of what in this context are called the Cultural Revolution's "leftover cases"—a rather unfortunate locution given the larger theme of the book), and he did not flinch from going straight into the "heart of darkness" of that terrible era. He pays particular attention to the Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region (an area where I have visited and have ties) and chases down lurid reports of cannibalism used as political violence. The book is presented in the form of a narration of his interviewing and his travels and his encounters with red tape and his own soul-searching—perhaps because the material itself is so difficult to organize. In particular, it is difficult to arrange the data, such as they are, on a spectrum from more to less reliable, and that makes an objective (or objective-style) historiographic narrative structure hard to achieve. In fact, it is harder even than he thinks it is, and this is the main problem with the book. Yi Zheng is quite prepared to believe the worst about the Cultural Revolution. Yes, yes, I realize: this seems an odd way for me to talk about what is possibly the most horrific paroxysm of brutal violence in the history of the world—certainly in the history of Asia. Yi Zheng has in one sense a right to take that approach, but he seems not to grasp that even, or especially, in the midst of such horrors there are also going to be wild tales spun which exaggerate even the horrors that there were, and he seems a little too close to his material to tell the two apart, even though that is his goal. To be more specific: the book does recognize, though not as clearly or as often as he might, that traditionally the Zhuang (a.k.a. Northern Tai, China's largest minority, which shares culture and language with tribal peoples in northern Vietnam and Laos) practiced ritual cannibalism; so many of the most verifiable and reliably reported cases in the book describe political "enemies" being killed and then their livers being removed and then taken away to be eaten ritually. But the more a report of cannibalism veers from this template, the less reliable—the more removed from a first-hand account—it tends to be. I speak here of cases where a group of villagers falls upon a recently or still-only-half killed person and start devouring every part of him—chewing off his still-quivering feet etc. etc. Or the alleged or apocryphal old woman who was known throughout the area for her insatiable appetite for severed human penises. The fact that the more lurid and, frankly, folkloristic-sounding accounts are the least well sourced or verified is something that Yi Zheng does not seem to notice as much as his readers mostly surely do. A problem here is that there is almost no ethnographic literature on ritual Zhuang cannibalism, except probably condescending, ideologically correct crap from the Maoist era, which is almost worse than no ethnographic literature at all. If Zhuang believe human livers have medicinal properties, then it makes sense perhaps in that culture never to waste one, especially if someone dies healthy (i.e. being killed). This in itself would not be unusual but not incomprehensible given what we know about the variety of human cultures. Perhaps there was more to it than that. Perhaps not. Perhaps there was also a Zhuang practice analogous to the prehistoric Southwestern U.S. practice of cannibalizing suspected witches, or of the Melanesian practice of ritual consumption of a killed enemy, or the West African practice of devouring the brains of a chief to acquire his essence and power. If so—or rather if we had answers to those questions at all—then it would be easier to make sense of what happened during the Cultural Revolution in Guangxi. Unfortunately, Yi Zheng does not seem to have been even curious enough to go to the library and check out even some rather popularly-written books which relate what anthropologists have found about why cannibalism occurs, which for someone writing a whole book about cannibalism, and taking more than a decade to do it, is a curious omission. Instead, he tells us with a straight face that traditional Zhuang cannibalism is entirely a response to hunger and privation (actually, I take it back; maybe he did go and read the crap by Marvin Harris, which would be unfortunate). The hunger explanation (which Harris is associated with) is no explanation at all, because it doesn't tell us why some societies resort to this in times of famine and others don't, why some people or some organs are eaten and others aren't, why Zhuang were also doing it when they were NOT hungry or deprived, or how Zhuang conceived of all of this. So what Yi Zheng ends up deciding is that the Zhuang used to, or recently did, practice cannibalism out of sheer hunger and that the (mostly Han) evil ideologues of the Cultural Revolution (and they were evil ideologues, don't get me wrong) deftly manipulated this aspect of Zhuang experience into a political weapon. He blames it all on the Party (or on lower Party officials) and none of it on the traditional Zhuang—innocent folk who were, in his view, only hungry—but most of the time only for livers, oddly enough. He sees it as a political phenomenon riffing off of a biological phenomenon, when it seems to me that the whole thing is mainly an interesting *cultural* story. I didn't expect a thoughtful anthropological dissertation on cannibalism, but I expected more than what Yi Zheng offers. A vivid, and very valuable, description near the end of the book of the author's encounter with young Zhuang who practice trance states and shamanic travel to the land of the dead is just a hint of the kind of research that *could* be done to understand better why the Cultural Revolution played out in this culture in the way that it did. And then when he DOES talk about the difference between Zhuang and Han culture, he does so with the terminology of the Maoist view of the stages of economic development, which is really just warmed-over Friedrich Engels. I don't think Yi Zheng realizes, so focused is he on exposing political crimes (which need to be exposed, mind you), that he needs to work harder to think outside those parts of Maoist social theory which are—or have become—a figleaf for Han internal colonialism. Alas, one can't do everything in every book, and I feel bad criticizing someone who risked his life to try to bring justice to one of the worst things that ever happened to innocent people and who has, with great intellectual and moral courage, emerged with astounding intellectual curiosity and integrity from a totalitarian society which attempts to crush people's spirit with mindless doublethink. Let's hope that soon China will become a free society not only where surviving perpetrators of the Cultural Revolution's horrors can be brought to justice and their victims properly memorialized and honored but where, among other things, scholars can work to try to understand the Guangxi cannibalism epidemic, such as it was, which is surely one of the most fascinating instances of this global practice. When that day comes, Yi Zheng's book will be a crucial part of that understanding, but it is only a beginning.