What Hunger by Catherine Dang is billed as Jennifer’s Body meets Little Fires Everywhere, and I can confidently say this is an apt comparison. As someone who often picks books based on their covers (with surprisingly good results), I was immediately drawn to the striking cover art and intrigued by the premise. I expected a Vietnamese version of Nightbitch, where the protagonist, Ronny, might literally transform into a monster or some other creature. What I didn’t anticipate was being immersed in a deeply compelling story about the intersection of generational trauma and modern horrors, and how they shape a teenage girl’s identity and rage.

Ronny’s journey is gripping, and I felt every ounce of her fury as she navigates a world that has wronged her. Like the character of Jennifer in Jennifer’s Body, Ronny doesn’t become a “man-eating demon” out of choice; she’s pushed to that point by the world around her. As I followed her story, I found myself rooting for her, even in her darker moments. The novel expertly blends psychological complexity with a raw examination of family and societal trauma, making Ronny’s transformation both chilling and understandable.

While I was left wanting a bit more from one of the character's final arcs, the plot twist at the end completely captivated me, and I loved how it tied everything together in a satisfying way.

Thank you to NetGalley and Simon & Schuster for providing me with an advanced copy of What Hunger. It’s a bold, haunting exploration of pain, power, and the complexities of identity, and I can’t wait to see how others respond to it.

Ronny Nguyen’s days are spent lounging in her small backyard with magazines and a creeping sense of aimlessness— while her college-bound brother Tommy is the golden child of their immigrant parents. Ronny’s deep attachment to Tommy, mixed with the dread of his leaving for college, beautifully captures the ache of growing up and the quiet fracture points within a family trying to balance expectations, love, and unspoken pain.

The novel’s exploration of food as a cultural memory is particularly striking. Meals are more than sustenance for Ronny’s family; they are vessels of history, survival, and identity. Food becomes a bridge to the family’s past in Vietnam, a way for Ronny’s parents—Me and Ba—to speak of a history they otherwise keep buried.

When tragedy strikes, the narrative shifts, plunging Ronny into emotional upheaval and physical transformation. The introduction of her “hunger” for raw meat is a shocking yet deeply symbolic turn. It reflects not only her fractured sense of self and her family’s grief but also a darker, more primal force awakening within her—a force tied to survival, power, and the body’s raw instincts. The supernatural element is handled with subtlety and nuance, adding a layer of unease while remaining firmly rooted in Ronny’s emotional reality.

The novel is grounded in cultural specificity while exploring universal themes of adolescence, grief, and identity. It offers a story that is at once deeply personal and eerily transcendent.

It’s a novel about the invisible forces that shape us—family, history, trauma—and how we can reclaim ourselves in the face of loss. It's intimate, unsettling, and unforgettable.

The publisher provided ARC via Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.