In the flooded remnants of Mercy, Louisiana, where toxic red algae blooms and mutated creatures lurk beneath the water’s surface, Trang Thanh Tran crafts a haunting sophomore novel that defies easy categorization. They Bloom at Night is a striking blend of body horror, eco-fiction, and coming-of-age narrative, all woven through with a distinctly Vietnamese American perspective.
The novel follows Nhung Lê (called “Noon” by those who can’t pronounce her name), a teenager navigating the aftermath of both personal trauma and environmental catastrophe. After a devastating hurricane, Nhung and her mother live on their family’s shrimping boat, with her mother desperately searching the waters for the reincarnated spirits of Nhung’s father and brother. Meanwhile, Nhung grapples with changes in her body that seem beyond the ordinary – white hair, falling nails, and eventually, something more extreme.
What makes this novel so compelling is how Tran uses the horror of bodily transformation as a metaphor for reclaiming one’s identity after violation. As Nhung notes, “Monsterhood is a girl’s body you don’t belong in.” The novel asks: What happens when you embrace the monster within? What if becoming “undone” is the only way to become whole?
Writing That Flows Like Water
Tran’s prose is both visceral and poetic, with descriptions that slide between beautiful and grotesque with unsettling ease. Consider this passage where Nhung describes her changing body:
“The skin on my neck splits into proper gills, trembling underneath my fingertips. It’s almost like petting an animal—a horse, maybe—and feeling its restrained strength and potential violence.”
The author has a particular talent for sensory details that immerse the reader in Nhung’s world – the stench of rot, the slickness of algae, the taste of raw fish. These elements combine to create an atmosphere of dread and wonder that permeates the novel.
I was especially impressed by how Tran balances the supernatural elements with grounded emotional realities. The interpersonal dynamics between characters feel authentic, particularly the fraught relationship between Nhung and her mother, who loves her daughter but cannot see her clearly. As Nhung says: “You were supposed to protect me… You’re embarrassed by me. You don’t see me at all.”
Characters Who Haunt and Heal
The novel’s greatest strength is its cast of complex, flawed characters. Nhung is a compelling protagonist—traumatized yet resilient, angry yet compassionate. Her voice carries the narrative with brutal honesty and moments of startling insight.
The supporting characters are equally well-realized:
- Covey Boudreaux – The knife-wielding daughter of Jimmy, she begins as an enemy but becomes something more to Nhung. Their developing relationship forms the emotional core of the novel.
- Tiên (Nhung’s mother) – A woman consumed by grief, desperately seeking her lost husband and son in the water, unable to fully see the daughter who remains.
- Wilder and Say – A queer couple offering sanctuary and friendship when Nhung needs it most, with their own complex backstories.
Even antagonists like Jimmy Boudreaux and Aaron feel dimensional rather than caricatures, though they embody the novel’s critique of those who exploit both people and nature for profit.
Where Tran falters slightly is in the pacing of character development, particularly in the early chapters. The relationship between Nhung and Covey shifts from antagonistic to intimate rather quickly, and some of Wilder and Say’s backstory feels compressed to accommodate the plot’s momentum.
Themes That Cut Deep
They Bloom at Night tackles several interconnected themes with nuance and depth:
- Environmental exploitation and adaptation – The algae bloom represents nature’s response to human degradation, with Sông (the water spirit) offering a new path forward through symbiosis.
- Body autonomy and transformation – Nhung’s changing body becomes a site of both horror and liberation, challenging conventional ideas about gender and humanity.
- Collective memory and identity – The novel’s “undone” retain their memories even as they physically transform, suggesting that identity persists beyond the body.
- Intergenerational trauma and healing – The Vietnamese immigrant experience colors Nhung’s family dynamics, particularly in how they respond to loss.
What impresses me most is how Tran weaves these themes into the narrative without becoming didactic. The novel doesn’t offer simple answers about whether Nhung’s transformation is good or bad – it simply is, much like the environmental changes reshaping Mercy.
When Horror Meets Hope
While marketed as YA horror, They Bloom at Night defies easy genre classification. It contains elements of:
- Body horror and cosmic horror in the tradition of Junji Ito
- Climate fiction that echoes Jeff VanderMeer’s Southern Reach trilogy
- Coming-of-age narratives with queer themes
- Vietnamese folklore reimagined in a contemporary setting
This genre-blending occasionally leads to tonal shifts that can be jarring. Some readers might find the body horror elements overwhelming, while others might wish for a more traditional resolution to the supernatural elements. The novel asks readers to embrace ambiguity, particularly in its final chapters.
I found the ending to be satisfying if not entirely tidy—Tran resists the urge to reverse Nhung’s transformation or restore a conventional “normality.” Instead, she offers a more nuanced conclusion that honors both the horror and hope of Nhung’s journey.
Critiques from the Deep
While They Bloom at Night is impressive in many regards, it’s not without flaws:
- The mythology around Sông remains somewhat nebulous, with its motivations and limitations not fully explored.
- Some side plots, like the scientist Delgado’s investigation, feel underdeveloped.
- The pacing in the middle section occasionally drags as characters move between locations.
- A few metaphors and similes feel overworked, particularly around water imagery.
These critiques, however, don’t significantly detract from the novel’s impact. They feel like minor ripples on an otherwise powerful current.
Comparisons and Context
They Bloom at Night builds on the atmospheric southern gothic elements of Tran’s debut novel, She Is a Haunting, but ventures into more explicitly body horror territory. Readers who enjoyed the queer themes and familial complexities of the first book will find those elements enhanced here.
The novel sits comfortably alongside other recent works that blend horror with identity exploration, such as:
- Our Share of Night by Mariana Enriquez
- The Echo Wife by Sarah Gailey
- My Heart Is a Chainsaw by Stephen Graham Jones
It also shares thematic DNA with eco-horror works like Annihilation by Jeff VanderMeer and the films of Bong Joon-ho, particularly The Host.
Final Verdict: Dive Into These Waters
They Bloom at Night is a bold, unsettling, and ultimately moving exploration of transformation and acceptance. Tran has created a protagonist whose monsterhood becomes a path to authenticity rather than alienation. While the novel doesn’t shy away from horror—both supernatural and human—it ultimately offers a message of hope: that we can survive, adapt, and even thrive in a changing world.
The novel asks difficult questions about what makes us human, what we owe each other, and how we respond to violation—both of bodies and environments. It doesn’t offer easy answers, but that’s precisely what makes it linger in the mind long after the final page.
For readers willing to wade into uncomfortable waters, They Bloom at Night offers a rewarding, thought-provoking, and emotionally resonant experience. Trang Thanh Tran has established herself as a distinctive voice in contemporary horror fiction, one who uses the genre’s tools to illuminate rather than merely terrify.
