In a world where apocalypses are measured in centuries and demons roam the outlands, Alix E. Harrow’s “The Knight and the Butcherbird” offers us a haunting meditation on love, transformation, and survival. This slim novella punches well above its weight, delivering a story as devastating as it is hopeful, told in prose that cuts like a well-honed blade. Harrow continues to cement her reputation as one of speculative fiction’s most distinctive voices with this tale that feels both ancient and urgently contemporary.
Setting the Stage: A Dying World Reimagined
Three hundred years after an unspecified apocalypse, humanity clings to existence in two distinct societies: the protected enclaves with their walls and technology, and the outlands where communities like Iron Hollow scrape together existence amid toxins, cancer, and demons. This divide isn’t just physical but ideological—the enclaves obsessively cling to the past while the outlanders live in a brutal present.
What makes Harrow’s worldbuilding particularly effective is how lived-in it feels within just a few paragraphs. She crafts a setting where:
- Ancient traditions like knights and Secretaries (oral historians) exist alongside rusted-out mobile homes and kudzu-covered ruins
- Religion and superstition blend with pragmatic survival strategies
- Social structures have evolved to manage inevitable death and transformation
- The phrase “the wheel turns” serves as both comfort and dismissal of grief
Harrow doesn’t waste time explaining every aspect of her world. Instead, she drops us into this reality through the eyes of Shrike, the seventeen-year-old Secretary of Iron Hollow whose wife has transformed into a demon. The effect is immersive rather than disorienting—we learn what we need as we need it.
Character Work: Love at the End of the World
At its heart, “The Knight and the Butcherbird” is a love story—or rather, two love stories running in parallel. Shrike’s devotion to her transformed wife May forms the emotional core, while the mysterious Sir John’s relationship with his hawk/wife provides a dark mirror.
Shrike emerges as a fascinatingly complex protagonist. Described as a “tumor at a birthday party,” she’s both insider and outsider to her community. Her love for May is fierce to the point of being murderous—she’s killed her adoptive mother Finch to protect May and is willing to kill again. Yet there’s vulnerability beneath her pragmatic savagery, particularly evident when she finally confronts the possibility that the May she loves might be truly gone.
Sir John, the legendary demon-hunting knight, initially appears as the archetypal hero, but Harrow quickly complicates our understanding. His crusade against demons isn’t righteousness but desperate hope—he’s hunting for an answer that might save his own demon wife. His eventual transformation provides a haunting counterpoint to Shrike’s journey.
Metaphor with Teeth: Cancer and Change
What elevates “The Knight and the Butcherbird” above similar post-apocalyptic tales is how it wields its central metaphor. The revelation that cancer—not demonic possession—drives transformation is delivered with the weight of profound truth rather than plot twist.
Harrow presents a compelling perspective: what if “demons” aren’t monsters but evolution in action? What if change isn’t something to fear but something necessary for survival? The passage where Shrike explains how cancer forces adaptation works on multiple levels:
“Everyone thinks you get sick because you begin to change, but it’s the opposite: you change because you get sick. Because you have to.”
This insight forms the philosophical heart of the story, connecting personal transformation with species-level adaptation. In a world poisoned by human activity, becoming something new—something that can survive the toxins—represents hope rather than horror.
Prose That Sings and Stings
Harrow’s prose style in “The Knight and the Butcherbird” deserves special mention. There’s a cadence to her writing that evokes oral storytelling traditions while maintaining a distinctly modern edge. She moves effortlessly between:
- Mythic, fairy-tale rhythms: “Once upon a time, a knight came riding into the holler.”
- Raw, visceral description: “It was a fight without fixed form, a battle without end. They slashed, bit, clawed, rent.”
- Poignant, intimate observation: “Her mouth had tasted like lightning, after, bright and urgent.”
The result is a voice that feels both timeless and immediate. Harrow demonstrates remarkable control throughout, knowing precisely when to expand into lush description and when to deliver a gut-punch with stark simplicity.
Where the Novella Falls Short
Despite its considerable strengths, “The Knight and the Butcherbird” isn’t without flaws:
- The pacing occasionally stumbles, particularly during the middle section where Shrike tracks Sir John
- Some readers may find the demon transformation concept underdeveloped from a scientific perspective
- The allegorical elements sometimes threaten to overwhelm the narrative, especially regarding class division
- Certain supporting characters remain sketched rather than fully realized
Additionally, while the novella’s brevity is largely a strength, allowing Harrow to maintain intensity throughout, there are moments where additional space to explore the world and its inhabitants would have been welcome.
The Harrow Hallmarks
For readers familiar with Alix E. Harrow’s previous works like “The Ten Thousand Doors of January,” “The Once and Future Witches,” and “Starling House,” there are recognizable elements that have become her signature:
- A fascination with doors and thresholds between worlds (here represented by transformation)
- Strong female protagonists who refuse to accept the limitations of their societies
- A deep interest in storytelling and how narratives shape reality
- Queer love as a natural, unremarkable part of the world
- Poetic prose that never sacrifices clarity for beauty
“The Knight and the Butcherbird” feels both distinctly Harrow and a progression of her craft—more focused and perhaps more willing to embrace ambiguity than her earlier works.
Final Verdict: A Modern Fairy Tale with Fangs
“The Knight and the Butcherbird” succeeds brilliantly as both speculative fiction and modern fairy tale. It takes familiar tropes—the knight, the monster, the quest—and reshapes them into something startlingly original. The novella asks difficult questions about adaptation, survival, and what we’re willing to sacrifice for love without offering easy answers.
What remains with the reader long after the final page is Harrow’s vision of transformation as both terrible and necessary. In a real world increasingly shaped by climate change and environmental degradation, there’s something both haunting and oddly hopeful in her suggestion that change—even monstrous change—might be our salvation rather than our doom.
For readers seeking thoughtful, beautifully written speculative fiction that doesn’t shy away from darkness but still allows for grace, “The Knight and the Butcherbird” is a remarkable achievement. It confirms Alix E. Harrow as not just a talented storyteller, but an essential voice in contemporary speculative fiction.
For Fans Of…
If you enjoyed “The Knight and the Butcherbird,” consider exploring:
- “The Fifth Season” by N.K. Jemisin (for its exploration of apocalypse and transformation)
- “Her Body and Other Parties” by Carmen Maria Machado (for its reimagining of fairy tale elements)
- “Tender Is the Flesh” by Agustina Bazterrica (for its unflinching look at post-apocalyptic society)
- “The Bear” by Andrew Krivak (for its lyrical approach to life after civilization)
- Harrow’s own short fiction, particularly “A Witch’s Guide to Escape: A Practical Compendium of Portal Fantasies”