In the wake of Hurricane Arlene, Mercy, Louisiana has become a town of ghosts—both metaphorical and increasingly literal. Trang Thanh Tran’s sophomore novel, They Bloom at Night, is a visceral body horror and coming-of-age tale that transforms trauma into transcendence. Following her acclaimed debut She Is a Haunting, Tran returns with a story even more unsettling and penetrating, one that uses ecological devastation as both setting and metaphor for a profound exploration of identity.
The novel follows Nhung (called “Noon” by those who can’t pronounce her Vietnamese name), a teenager grappling with multiple layers of alienation: from her own body, from her grief-stricken mother who believes their dead family members have been reincarnated as sea creatures, and from a town that has always treated her as an outsider. When Jimmy Boudreaux—the predatory business owner who controls what remains of Mercy—blackmails Nhung and her mother into hunting the mysterious “monster” that’s drowning residents, Nhung reluctantly forms an alliance with Jimmy’s own daughter, Covey.
What follows is a haunting journey through submerged ruins, symbiotic transformations, and the most monstrous recesses of human nature.
Breaking the Surface: Masterful Themes and Storytelling
Tran’s greatest achievement in They Bloom at Night is weaving together multiple strands of horror without letting any single element overwhelm the narrative. The novel functions simultaneously as:
- An ecological horror story about human-caused environmental catastrophe
- A body horror tale exploring transformation and metamorphosis
- A trauma narrative examining sexual assault and its aftermath
- A coming-of-age story about finding one’s true self
- A cultural exploration of Vietnamese immigrant experiences in the American South
The red algae bloom that has overtaken Mercy serves as both literal threat and powerful metaphor. As the bloom transforms creatures that come in contact with it, Nhung undergoes her own transformation—one that began not with the algae but with a sexual assault two years prior at a cove party hosted by her older boyfriend, Aaron.
Tran’s prose excels at capturing the discomfort of existing in a body that feels wrong. Early in the novel, Nhung observes: “I am encased in skin that isn’t always mine, clothes that aren’t me. I am in a funnel of consequences, and I don’t know what’ll happen if I escape.” Later, as she begins to understand and accept her metamorphosis, she realizes: “Monsterhood is a girl’s body you don’t belong in.”
Profound Character Development
The characters in They Bloom at Night are complex and deeply realized:
Nhung/Noon
Nhung’s journey from shame and self-loathing to fierce self-acceptance forms the novel’s emotional core. Her voice—sardonic, analytical about marine biology, and painfully honest—gives the novel its distinctive rhythm. As she progressively sheds both literal and metaphorical skins, she discovers that her transformation is not a corruption but a becoming.
Covey
As Jimmy’s daughter, Covey initially seems like a reluctant antagonist but evolves into something much more complex—a fierce ally, a potential romantic interest, and a character pursuing her own parallel journey of self-discovery and liberation from her controlling father.
Mom (Tiên)
Nhung’s mother, trapped in a delusional search for her reincarnated husband and son, is perhaps the novel’s most heartbreaking character. Her inability to save Nhung from past trauma manifests as a desperate search for those already lost, rather than protecting what remains.
Wilder and Say
These supporting characters provide crucial balance to the narrative’s darker elements. Wilder, Nhung’s childhood friend who ran away from his own family, and his partner Say create a found family that demonstrates what genuine acceptance looks like.
Where the Novel Occasionally Falters
Despite its many strengths, They Bloom at Night isn’t without flaws:
- Pacing issues in the middle section – The novel’s midsection occasionally gets bogged down in repetitive scenes of exploration and planning that could have been condensed.
- Some metaphors become overly explicit – While the novel’s allegorical elements are largely effective, there are moments when Tran makes connections too explicit, undercutting the power of her symbolism.
- The mythology of “Sông” – The water entity/god that connects to the algae bloom is fascinating but sometimes inconsistently developed, with powers and limitations that shift according to narrative needs.
- Underdeveloped antagonists – While Jimmy and Aaron effectively represent different types of predatory behavior, they occasionally veer into one-dimensional villainy compared to the nuanced development of the protagonists.
Vivid, Sensory Prose
Tran’s writing is unflinchingly visceral. She captures the sticky heat of the bayou, the oppressive humidity before a hurricane, and the sensation of one’s own body becoming unfamiliar territory with remarkable precision. Consider this passage where Nhung begins to truly transform:
“Like the worm in the praying mantis, the algae in me has responded to outside intervention. My entire side seems to pulse. They brace my shoulders down. My hands turn into fists as a cramp wracks my side, a force that twists through… the edge of a red thing—I first mistake it for an actual vein—squirms.”
This unflinching attention to bodily sensation and transformation calls to mind the body horror of David Cronenberg films or the metamorphic narratives of Franz Kafka, yet Tran’s perspective is distinctly her own—infused with both Vietnamese cultural elements and queer themes of becoming one’s authentic self.
Cultural Depth and Representation
Tran seamlessly incorporates Vietnamese language, cultural references, and immigrant experiences without exoticizing or over-explaining them. Nhung’s relationship with her mother captures the complex dynamics of first-generation Vietnamese American experiences, while the symbiotic relationships explored through the algae bloom echo Vietnamese folk beliefs about water spirits.
The novel’s treatment of gender and sexuality is equally nuanced. Nhung’s struggle with her body isn’t presented as a straightforward transgender narrative, but rather as a complex questioning of imposed categories altogether. When she declares “I don’t want to be a girl,” she follows with, “Girls are like some of the best things about the world… What I hate is anyone who scorns us for not being cookie-cutter versions of Boy or Girl.”
A Bold Addition to the Horror Genre
They Bloom at Night sits comfortably alongside other recent works that use horror to explore marginalized experiences:
- Like Tana Karcole’s The Dead Take the A Train, it blends body horror with cultural specificity
- Similar to Rivers Solomon’s Sorrowland, it uses bodily transformation as metaphor for claiming identity
- It shares thematic DNA with Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s Mexican Gothic in its exploration of colonization and environmental exploitation
Yet Tran’s voice is distinctly her own. Following her debut novel She Is a Haunting, which explored a haunted French colonial mansion in Vietnam, They Bloom at Night confirms Tran as a major talent in contemporary horror—one who uses the genre’s tropes to explore trauma, identity, and healing in ways both culturally specific and universally resonant.
Final Verdict: A Mesmerizing, Metamorphic Tale
Despite occasional pacing issues and some underdeveloped elements, They Bloom at Night is a remarkable achievement that transcends its minor flaws. At once a harrowing exploration of trauma and an empowering story of transformation, the novel uses horror to illuminate truths about identity, acceptance, and ecological interdependence.
Tran’s prose is consistently mesmerizing, whether describing the bioluminescent glow of algae-infested waters or the quiet intimacy between Nhung and Covey as they apply makeup to each other’s faces in a moment of normalcy amid chaos. The novel’s conclusion strikes a perfect balance between resolution and ambiguity—offering both catharsis and a sense that Nhung’s transformation will continue beyond the final page.
For readers who appreciate horror with emotional and thematic depth, They Bloom at Night is essential reading—a novel that uses the monstrous to reveal the humanity in us all. As Nhung discovers by the end, “At the end of the world, there is still Mom’s singing, Say’s laughter, Wilder’s antics. Covey’s hands pulling me into the night… This world and its sharp, intense beauty.”