By Claire Betita de Guzman

Ghost Hunters of Geylang
Xie Shi Min
Epigram Books (2025) / 398 pages / SGD 20.90  

Imagine tearing through the neon-drenched streets of Singapore's infamous Geylang district on a motorbike, a vengeful spirit hot on your heels, its frangipani-scented breath mingling with the humid night air. This is the pulse-pounding world that author Xie Shi Min thrusts us into with Ghost Hunters of Geylang, where its main character, 16-year-old Zhong Su Lynn, grapples with her family's ancient legacy of spirit-slaying while questioning whether brute force or compassion should guide her blade.

Negotiating high-stakes chases against folklore's most fearsome entities – think pontianak, meigui, shuigui, orang minyak and other Southeast Asian spectres reborn in a modern urban sprawl – Su Lynn is desperate to prove herself as a ghost hunter worthy of her grandfather Ah Gong's legacy. However, her empathetic nature and unconventional methods for dealing with restless spirits clash hard with her grandfather's brutal philosophy, creating a deep-seated family conflict that drives the narrative. When Su Lynn discovers her grandfather is hiding a dark secret that threatens everything she believes about ghost hunting – and falls for someone who may not be entirely human – she must confront a terrifying truth that could destroy her world.

At its heart, this debut novel weaves themes of empathy versus tradition, the weight of cultural inheritance, and the messy beauty of found family, all set against a vividly reimagined Singapore that's equal parts gritty red-light buzz and hidden supernatural underbelly. In the Young Adult (YA) landscape, it carves a fresh niche in urban fantasy by rooting its magic in Peranakan and Malay-Chinese folklore, standing out from the usual Western-witchy tropes through its distinctly Southeast Asian lens – think less Hogwarts, more hawker centres haunted by ancestral grudges. It's a story that feels like a love letter to Singapore's multicultural soul, perfect for readers craving fantasy that mirrors real-world diaspora struggles without losing its supernatural thrill. In essence, this is a story about finding your own path, challenging those you love, and confronting the terrifying truths that can destroy everything you believe.

Ghost Hunters of Geylang left me feeling exhilarated, intrigued, emotionally drained yet oddly hopeful. It hit me right in the chest, that rare YA spark where the supernatural isn't just window dressing but a mirror for the raw ache of growing up under expectations you both crave and chafe against. The world-building is so rich and the conflict so palpable that the story resonated on an emotional level. Xie has crafted a story that begins as a supernatural coming-of-age but evolves into something much darker and more complex – a meditation on intergenerational trauma, abuse and the courage required to break harmful cycles. It left my mind buzzing with a myriad of what-ifs.

Su Lynn is a compelling, flawed protagonist, whose struggle to reconcile her compassionate nature with the violent expectations of her family's trade makes her deeply relatable. Her arc feels organic, from an eager-to-please granddaughter to an independent moral agent, a slow-burn evolution from shadow to spotlight that not only feels earned but captures a young adult's essence of self-discovery amid chaos.

Alongside her is a crew of fellow young hunters, a strong supporting cast that feels well-developed. The whole ensemble doesn't just prop up Su Lynn; they challenge her, their banter crackling with sibling-like jabs and inside jokes that ground the supernatural in everyday teen messiness. Huda's unwavering loyalty, Zi Ming's sharp-tongued competitiveness masking deeper insecurities, and Asyraf's tech-savvy optimism pulse with a fierce ride-or-die energy, while the family dynamic between Su Lynn and her grandfather rears its toxicity through generational friction. The romance with Cai Rong is handled with surprising maturity, focusing on understanding and acceptance rather than physical attraction.

Plot-wise, the pacing is a masterclass in momentum, hurtling from adrenaline-fuelled chases to building suspense through slower, more character-driven chapters and layered revelations where the emotional consequences of the hunt are explored. Twists land with satisfying cleverness, rooted in folklore logic rather than cheap shocks. The structure effectively interweaves Su Lynn's personal growth with supernatural mystery, never letting one overshadow the other. Well-executed twists and unexpected reveals, such as the true nature of Ah Gong's legacy, feel natural and well-executed, leading to a satisfying and earned climax that doesn't shy away from the emotional cost.

The world-building is arguably the book's greatest strength. Singapore leaps off the page, not as backdrop but as a living, breathing entity – Geylang's garish neon and hidden temples alive with spectral whispers, HDB blocks shadowing ancient jungle spirits. The rules of the ghost realm are clear yet elegantly simple: yang-energy gourds sealing yin-haunted souls, rituals nodding to underworld gods. Sensory details immerse you – the metallic tang of black spirit blood, the cloying sweetness of frangipani decay, the roar of engines cutting through humid night air. Its blend of colonial ghosts with modern multiculturalism makes the fantastical feel folklore-familiar yet thrillingly fresh. The rules of this supernatural world are well-established and consistent, making the fantastical elements like ghost behaviour and soul structure feel believable.

The narrative voice – first-person from Su Lynn's POV – feels pitch-perfect, youthful and introspective without slipping into angst overload. Overall, I found Xie's writing evocative and propulsive, a delightful blend of a teenager's perspective and sharp insight as it tackles mature themes. The dialogue crackles with realistic teenage energy, capturing her anxiety, determination and inner turmoil. Cultural details are woven naturally into the narrative without feeling forced or overly explanatory. Xie has a skill in blending horror with heartbreaking humanity.

The book is a triumph of authentic representation. The book's diverse cast reflects Singapore's tapestry (Chinese, Malay, Indian influences woven seamlessly), handled with respect and research. No tokenism here; identities inform arcs thoughtfully, from cultural rituals to casual code-switching, with characters' cultural backgrounds informing their perspectives in meaningful ways. Madam Siti's bomoh practices and Huda's Islamic background are treated with respect and integrated naturally into the supernatural framework.

While Su Lynn's arc is strong, some supporting characters could be fleshed out with deeper backstories and their motivations made more convincing. Antagonist Miao Ling, despite her crucial role, remains somewhat one-dimensional and could use a more complex portrayal to heighten her psychological depth. Zi Ming's brusque, condescending behaviour towards Su Lynn seems inconsistent with a friend who would race to help her. A deeper exploration of his loyalty to their grandfather's methods versus his concern for Su Lynn could strengthen his character. Prethika and the twins, while distinct, can at times feel more like plot devices than fully realised people. The dynamics between Ah Gong and his family could also be explored further. While presented as a brutal figure, the reasoning behind his actions and his specific expectations for Su Lynn, as hinted by his line, "you need to be better than all the others," could be more deeply explored.

Pacing hums along, but reflective interludes, including intriguing historical diary snippets hinting at past lives, sometimes slow the tempo. The transition between action and exposition could be tightened. A few instances of info-dumping where ghost lore is explained in a separate, textbook-like chapter, interrupts the narrative flow. The central theme of empathy versus brutality is powerful, but at times the message feels slightly heavy-handed. Su Lynn's internal monologues about the humanity of ghosts are poignant, but the conflict with Ah Gong could be conveyed more powerfully through action and less through explicit declarations.

Still, this book snuck under my skin, leaving me equal parts pumped and pensive. I found myself emotionally invested in Su Lynn's desperation for validation from her grandfather and her gradual awakening to his manipulation. I laughed out loud at the crew's deadpan quips during downtime – Zi Ming's flat "Yay, you did it" after a near-death scrape is gold – and held my breath through hunts that blend terror with tenderness. I caught myself scanning shadows on my evening walk, wondering about lurking pontianaks, and yes, I'd devour a sequel in a heartbeat – Xie's got me hooked on this crew's evolving saga, eager for more glimpses into their haunted world.

In the crowded YA urban fantasy arena, Ghost Hunters of Geylang's hyper-local Singaporean swagger sets it apart, as Xie has created a story that respects its readers' intelligence while delivering genuine thrills and emotional depth. It's got the complexity for thoughtful teens tackling identity or family legacy, but the action keeps it accessible. In an era where YA often gets criticised for lack of substance, Ghost Hunters of Geylang proves that books for young adults can tackle serious themes without sacrificing entertainment value.

The story's greatest strength lies in its refusal to offer easy answers about family, tradition and doing what's right. Su Lynn's journey from approval-seeking to moral independence provides a powerful template for readers facing their own difficult family dynamics. It's also a reminder that the scariest ghosts are the ones we carry inside. At a time when discussions about intergenerational trauma and breaking harmful cycles are increasingly prominent, Ghost Hunters of Geylang offers young readers both validation and hope – showing that it's possible to honour one's heritage while refusing to perpetuate its harmful elements. Xie Shi Min? One to watch – her blade's sharp, and so's her storytelling.

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