After much struggling over the past few years, including a lengthy process that involved redrafting many times from scratch, I've finally got a book that both myself and my editors are happy with. I'm genuinely so excited for this one, and I hope readers will enjoy it!
For the kind folks who are asking, I can't yet give a sequel to Book Eaters, sorry! I know what that book would be and have an outline written down somewhere, but I need to finish my current contract first :) the good news is that I’m close to completing that first contract.
QUICK WARNING: There is no romance in this novel, very sorry! I know romance arcs are super popular in fantasy atm, but for very valid Story Reasons, there is simply no scope for that in this book (and if you read it, you'll definitely understand why!) I thought I'd mention that as the lack of such elements can be a dealbreaker for some readers, which I do completely understand, and I'd hate for someone to read it and get disappointed. Plus romance is often a feature of gothic novels, so it is a natural assumption.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE (updated: 6 Sept 2025)
(as included in the back of this book)
Spelling conventions in this book
Chinese given names are commonly two-syllable combinations, prefaced by a family name, or surname. There are different ways to represent that two-syllable construction in English; sometimes those first names have a space between syllables, or a hyphen. Sometimes they are written together a single two-syllable construction.
I’ve been inconsistent across the book in how I represent those names; this is a deliberate choice. When possible, I combine syllables because I don’t want readers to interpret Daiyu as two separate names, for example. This is also how my own name is written; my mother chose to write “Sunyi” rather than “Sun Yi,” because she knew that in English the “yi” might be misconstrued as a middle name, when it is not.
However, for other names—for example, Kit Ling—I opted to add a space between syllables, in order to guide the pronunciation a little more. If written like “Kitling,” I think most Western readers would understandably rhyme that with “Kipling.” This is due to how different languages handle stressed and unstressed syllables.
In other cases, I sometimes made an aesthetic choice. I felt intuitively, for example, that “Lau Yik” looks straightforward when written with a space, whereas “Lauyik” might give English readers pause.
The topic of how to best present non-Anglo names can be really sticky, and I hope that I have not been insensitive in my methods. My goal is only to present the names as accessibly and accurate-sounding as possible, while still respecting the pinyin system and the language itself.
On the subject of English names in a Chinese setting
Hong Kong has a long and complex history with English-sounding first names. For many young people, choosing an English name—especially before going abroad—is something they spend time and effort on. Not all Chinese names translate easily to English, and also some folks just enjoy the fun of it.
When my mother moved from Hong Kong to Texas in the late 1980s, she picked the name Lisa for herself. To this day, even though she has now reverted to her original given name, there are still a few people who know her as Lisa. When I was much younger, I often used my middle name, Robin, while in America. Some of my Texan relatives continue to use “Robin” to this day, despite my requests to be addressed as Sunyi. In this book, Mei Chi opts to acquire the English name of Mercy.
I will also freely admit that giving a slightly different name is a useful tool for helping the reader to keep track of the varying timelines, which do get quite complicated in places. However, having known many people who move seamlessly between their English and Chinese names, I think she would fit right in.
On the subject of translated names
For the most part, character names are untranslated in the book, but not always. This inconsistency is something I wrestled with enormously; there’s a weirdness to having certain terms or names translated in a book which is set in a non-English environment, while others remain the same.
Ultimately, I decided that leaving names in their original form was truer to how Chinese people think about names. For example, my own name means God’s Child, but nobody who says my name is thinking of me as God’s Child. They think of me simply as Sunyi, even among Cantonese speakers. Despite the fact that most Chinese names have a directly translated meaning, the context shapes how people perceive/hear those names.
In a similar way, we might meet someone called Pierce Brosnan, and think of him only as the person called Pierce—and not as the action verb, “pierce.” Therefore, I felt that writing “Mei Chi” gave a better sense of how her name would be “heard” by Chinese speakers, rather than writing “Beautiful Pond,” fun though that would have been.
In Mei Chi/Mercy’s case specifically, I thought it was also useful to show the phonetic similarities between her English and Chinese names, which is a part of why she picks Mercy in the first place.
The two characters who buck this trend are Cobra Lily and Red Bird. This is because their situations are unique. Cobra Lily’s “real” legal name is a secret, known only to herself and the government officials she briefly speaks to; her “triad name” is a chosen identity, meant to represent her status as its leader, and to convey her power. The same is true for Red Bird. Her name is taken to represent her identity as a sex worker, and to protect her privacy from the men she encounters.
In both cases, the meanings of their names are more important than the sound of them. When other people speak of Cobra Lily, or Red Bird, they are hearing the words individually, because their names are more like titles. A similar example in English might be the famous 1980s wrestler Shirley Crabtree, who was known as “Big Daddy” in the ring.
On the subject of translated words
I mostly use English terms throughout because that’s the language this book is written in. However, some words actually convey better through context than they do through crude translated terms, e.g., dai pai dong or cha chaan teng. I could say “cafe” instead of cha chaan teng, but that has an association for me which is European in origin. Besides, modern Hong Kong has cafes, too, and they are often quite different from a cha chaan teng.
In short, I’ve tried to use common sense or artistic license for what feels appropriate, and to convey a sense of cultural flavor in things that I particularly love about Hong Kong without drowning English readers in unfamiliar terms.
A note on Cobra Lily, and the historical figure of “Mother Snake”
The character of Cobra Lily is entirely fictional, but she does draw from a real-life lady gangster named She Aizhen. Originally born into a wealthy Shanghainese family, Aizhen was fascinated by the criminal underworld at an early age, despite her privileged upbringing and expensive education. At fourteen, she fell pregnant with a gangster’s child. When he refused to support her, she threatened him with a knife until he agreed to marriage. When her second husband cheated on her, she stormed the house of his mistress, threatened the other woman with guns, and scratched the skin from her face.
She Aizhen’s life was marked by extraordinary violence and unusual contrasts. She was beautiful and intelligent, but also brutal and viciously cruel. She defied a thousand different gender barriers and social strictures, but also tortured and murdered wantonly, and even sided with the Japanese during World War II. Much like Cobra Lily, She Aizhen was a difficult person to categorize: a compelling force of nature, both monstrous and revolutionary.
A further note on Guanyin/Kwun Yam, and Ma Zu
Historically, Guanyin/Kwun Yam is a wholly separate entity from Ma Zu, and better known as a powerful and important goddess of mercy, rather than as a sea goddess. Guanyin originated from Hinduism, specifically the male bodhisattva known as Avalokitesvara. Buddhism derives much of its lore from Hinduism, including some of the deities.
As Buddhist/Hinduism spread and diverged across distances, Guanyin was sometimes portrayed as a gender-fluid deity, or more commonly as a woman in East Asia. As my mother put it, “Guanyin was born a man, but we know her now as a woman.”
The reasons for this are complex and fascinating, and draw in part from Guanyin’s ability to incarnate in different bodies and take different forms. I have attempted to capture some of that gender fluid history here, in how Guanyin/Kwun Yam is represented.
Meanwhile, Ma Zu’s origins differ enormously. Unlike Guanyin, who has always been divine, Ma Zu was born a human child with selective mutism (hence her name, Lin Moniang, which means ‘Silent Girl’). She had the ability to control storms and astrally project her spirit.
Over time, in certain locations, Ma Zu cults and Guanyin cults became enmeshed in their beliefs. Though Ma Zu is widely accepted as an elevated human, some cults believe that she was actually an incarnation of Guanyin in human form, which would go some way to explaining her devotion to Guanyin (Ma Zu’s goddess of choice), and her amazing supernatural gifts. This, combined with Guanyin’s ocean affinity in certain regions, led to a blending of those stories.
The historical literature leans heavily on them being separate figures with separate histories, but in this novel, I’ve adopted the interpretation that Ma Zu was an incarnation of Guanyin, hence the strange sea-cavern temple, and the carvings that depict interactions with jiaoren. (For context, Ma Zu famously threw herself into the ocean after the death of her father, and in some legends she encountered strange creatures beneath the waves.)
As always, there’s a balance to be struck between respect for beliefs, and the desire to weave those rich traditions into story form. I hope that what I have done will be of interest, rather than of offense, to those who worship both or either of these deities.