You probably went into Mike Flanagan’s 2020 follow-up to Hill House expecting to jump out of your skin every five minutes. Most people did. But honestly? The Haunting of Bly Manor isn't really a horror show in the traditional sense. It’s a "gothic romance," a term Flanagan himself leaned into heavily during the press circuit. It's less about things that go bump in the night and more about the things that stay with us after we've lost someone we love.
It’s heavy.
Based primarily on Henry James’s 1898 novella The Turn of the Screw, the series takes that ambiguous, chilling foundation and stretches it into a sprawling family tree of grief. If you’ve seen it, you know the feeling of spotting a plague doctor or a doll-faced child in the background of a shot, tucked away in the shadows of the manor. But those ghosts aren't just there for a cheap thrill. They are literal manifestations of memory.
The Haunting of Bly Manor and the Trap of "Tucking"
Let’s talk about the kids. Flora and Miles Wingrave are, frankly, terrifying for about 60% of the runtime. Flora’s constant "perfectly splendid" catchphrase feels less like a quirk and more like a coping mechanism after you realize what’s actually happening to her brain.
The show introduces this concept called "tucking." It’s basically a psychic defense mechanism. When a ghost "inhabits" a living person, they shove the living soul into a memory—a "tucked" moment—so the ghost can take the wheel. It’s a brilliant, albeit devastating, metaphor for dissociation.
Think about it.
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When we experience trauma, we often check out. We go somewhere else in our heads. In the world of The Haunting of Bly Manor, that "somewhere else" is a loop of your favorite (or least favorite) memories. Peter Quint, played with a sort of desperate, toxic charisma by Oliver Jackson-Cohen, uses this to manipulate Rebecca Jessel. He doesn't just want to be with her; he wants to own her experience.
It’s messy. It’s toxic. It’s exactly what Henry James was hinting at in his original text, though Flanagan makes it much more explicit for a modern audience.
The Lady in the Lake: Where the Rules Come From
Episode eight, "The Romance of Certain Old Clothes," is usually the point where viewers either fall in love with the show or get frustrated by the sudden black-and-white detour. But you can't understand the haunting without understanding Viola Willoughby.
Viola is the "gravity" of Bly.
Centuries ago, she died of a lung infection (after being smothered by her sister, which is a whole other level of sibling rivalry). Because of her sheer, stubborn will to remain, she created a "gravity" that traps anyone who dies on the grounds. She becomes the Lady in the Lake.
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She forgets.
That’s the most horrifying part of the show's lore. Ghosts in this universe don't just stay scary; they fade. They lose their eyes, their mouths, their memories. They become "faceless," which is a terrifyingly literal way of showing how time erodes identity. By the time Dani Arons arrives as the new au pair, Viola is just a mindless force of nature, walking a path, looking for a child that isn't there, and dragging anyone in her way down into the depths.
Why the Ending Still Hits So Hard
The finale of The Haunting of Bly Manor shifted the entire perspective of the show. We find out the narrator is actually an older Jamie, the gardener, telling this story at a wedding rehearsal dinner.
It changes everything.
Dani’s sacrifice—inviting the Lady in the Lake into her own soul to save Flora—isn't a heroic victory in the way we usually see in movies. It’s a death sentence. She gets a few years of happiness with Jamie, but the "beast in the jungle" is always there, waiting in the reflection of every mirror.
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It’s a story about the inevitable end of all things. Jamie tells the story not to scare the wedding guests, but to remind them that loving someone means eventually losing them. You’re either the one who leaves, or the one who is left behind.
What People Often Miss About the Lore
- The Dolls: Flora’s dollhouse isn't just a toy. It’s a tracking system. The faceless child ghost moves the dolls to show Flora where the actual ghosts are in the house at any given moment. It’s why she’s so insistent about people staying in their rooms.
- The Kitchen: Notice how Hannah Grose never eats? It’s one of those "hidden in plain sight" details that makes a second watch-through so rewarding. Her entire existence in the first half of the season is a loop of denial.
- The Mirror: Dani’s original ghost, her fiancé Edmund, isn't part of the Bly "gravity." He’s a different kind of haunt—the guilt kind. Once she faces her truth and finds real love with Jamie, he vanishes. He didn't need an exorcism; he needed her to stop punishing herself.
How to Process the Bly Experience
If you’re looking to dive deeper into this specific brand of gothic horror, don't just look for jump scares. Look for the subtext.
First, read The Turn of the Screw. It’s short, but the ambiguity is much higher than the show. You’re never quite sure if the ghosts are real or if the governess is just having a breakdown. Comparing that uncertainty to Flanagan's very "real" ghosts is a fascinating exercise in how storytelling has evolved.
Second, watch the 1961 film The Innocents. It’s arguably the best direct adaptation of the book and influenced the visual style of The Haunting of Bly Manor significantly. The way it uses deep focus to keep the background in play is something Flanagan mimics to keep the audience scanning the corners of the screen.
Lastly, pay attention to the silence. In an era of "loud" horror, Bly is remarkably quiet. The most tragic moments happen in the pauses between sentences. It’s a show that demands you sit with the sadness rather than running from it.
The real actionable takeaway here? Go back and re-watch the first episode. Now that you know who is dead and who isn't, the dialogue takes on a completely different, much darker meaning. You’ll see Hannah Grose’s "disorientation" for what it actually is: a soul trying to find its way back to a body that’s at the bottom of a well.
The "haunting" isn't the ghost in the basement. It’s the way we carry the people we've lost until we eventually become memories ourselves.