The second volume of Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda’s The Night Eaters graphic novel trilogy, Her Little Reapers, hit shelves this month, just in time for Halloween. Picking up where its predecessor, She Eats the Night, left off, Her Little Reapers continues the story of twins Milly and Billy Ting, who are still coming to grips with their newly revealed demonic heritage. Milly and Billy have more than their shared existential crisis to worry about, though, as they’re also pulled even deeper into a supernatural conspiracy that could spell disaster not just for them, but for their parents, Ipo and Keon, as well.
It’s suitably spooky stuff, and Liu and Takeda certainly get plenty of mileage out of possessed dolls, Lovecraftian monsters, and plenty of other creepy critters associated with the horror genre. Yet this is all ultimately window dressing for what the writer and artist are really interested in exploring in Her Little Reapers: the surprising intersection between otherworldly terrors and everyday concerns.
This “horror meets the mundane” theme permeates every corner of The Night Eaters’ second volume, emanating outward from the Ting family itself. Milly, Billy, Ipo, and Keon belong – either partly or fully – to a plane of existence outside our own, and yet so many of the internal and external conflicts they deal with in Her Little Reapers are rooted in situations we can all relate to.
Take the argument between Ipo and the twins about the best way for them to use their diabolical abilities. Scrape away the horror story trappings and you’re left with the same intergenerational disconnect that defines the dynamic between most parents and their grown-up kids. It doesn’t matter that Ipo refuses to back Milly and Billy’s decision to launch a potentially dangerous paranormal investigation instead of something more prosaic like the pair’s career goals (although Ipo certainly has thoughts about that too). What matters is that a mother and her children are at odds because the latter is convinced that they know best – something that will ring true for most readers, especially those with immigrant parents.
While no two immigrant family stories are the same, it’s possible to tease out commonalities between them all. Notably, there’s often an underlying tension between the culture of the old world versus that of the new, and Liu and Takeda put a devilish spin on this concept in Her Little Reapers. Throughout the graphic novel, Milly and Billy are constantly trying to figure out what it means to be children of two different worlds, having been raised believing they were ordinary humans. The twins turn to Ipo and Keon for guidance, but their years spent suppressing Milly and Billy’s birthright – ostensibly to help Milly and Billy blend in – have left them utterly incapable of supplying any answers, much less direction, on the subject.
Ipo and Keon raised Milly and Billy as humans to give them a better life, and they succeeded up to a point. Yet giving the twins a “normal” childhood didn’t just protect them from supernatural stranger danger, it also kept Ipo and Keon safe from difficult conversations. It was a way for the elder Tings to put off tough talks with their kids because silence was easier. Again, this will feel familiar to anyone whose parents are equally bad at opening up about what really matters, even if their own experiences didn’t also involve faceless ghosts or demonic assassins.
But like I hinted at earlier, it’s not just the Ting clan who embody Her Little Reapers’ refreshingly grounded brand of horror. The second installment of the Night Eaters trilogy boasts a supporting cast that’s no less relatable than its major players, particularly where the major and minor antagonists are concerned. The Ting’s enemies in Her Little Reapers aren’t unknowable monsters – they’re the kind of people we’ve met or otherwise encountered before in our own lives.
Human/demon hybrid or not, main villain Ming is no different from any other charismatic evangelical figure taking advantage of a quasi-cult of pensioners (even if said pensioners are themselves possessed). The same goes for the wider otherworldly community, whom Liu and Takeda characterize as catty middle managers, harried underlings, and workaday security guards called “Chuck.” In short, they’re the same folks you’d find in virtually any office complex across the globe, only with sinuous horns and flaming swords. It’s enough to make you wonder whether there even is such a thing as a demon and explains why the Ting twin’s Uncle Bee brands the “d-word” racist.
Yet of all Her Little Reapers’ many observations around the overlap between the mystical and the mundane, perhaps the truest is aimed at us, the audience. Midway through the graphic novel, a bone-chillingly spectacular supernatural phenomenon goes down (think: “spontaneous combustion” terrifying) and nobody notices. They’re all too busy looking at their phones or listening to their headphones to clock somebody literally bursting into flames in front of them.
It’s not a subtle scene, nor is it meant to be. You can practically hear Liu and Takeda screaming, “All manner of sinister shit is happening out there in the real world, people – pay attention!” Sure, it’s not necessarily the same kind of ghoulish threats that the Ting family is faced with, however, it’s still big enough and serious enough to demand we stop scrolling or hit pause on our favorite podcast.
So, if you’re looking for a scary graphic novel this Halloween, by all means, pick up The Night Eaters: Her Little Reapers – just be prepared to confront the horror lurking beneath the surface of day-to-day life if you do.
Review copy provided
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