Shield of Sparrows

Defining monstrousness is central to both the plot and the moral questions the novel raises. While the world is filled with literal monsters—tarkin, bariwolves, crux, etc.—Perry explores the complexities of what it means to be a “monster.” Early on, monstrousness seems simple: Beasts are dangerous, while humans are not. However, as the story progresses, this boundary begins to erode, forcing the characters to reconsider whether monstrosity is about nature, behavior, intent, or some mix of all three.

At first, monsters feature as threats to be eradicated. Odessa learns that certain creatures are to be killed on sight; these include grizzurs and bariwolves, as well as any creature with Lyssa. The latter are labeled “feral,” a term that implies not just danger but uncontrollable wildness and thus stands in direct contrast to humanity. However, Odessa soon begins to notice contradictions. After the Guardian slays a marroweel, she observes something mournful in its eyes, noting it “had died so a prince could manipulate a king. So a man could force a woman into marriage” (89). Here, the so-called monster becomes a symbol of victimization. Perry uses this moment to introduce a key idea: Sometimes the monster isn’t the creature with fangs but the person who wields power without conscience.

This idea gains traction through Odessa’s evolving relationship with Ransom. As a human infected with Lyssa, Ransom embodies both roles—a protector and potential predator. He considers himself monstrous, but it’s not his abilities that make him dangerous; it’s the possibility that he might lose control of the bloodlust at any given moment. At the same time, the novel frames this not as a reversion to animalistic instinct but as deeply human; the infection itself is a mutation created by humans trying to push the limits of survival. As Ransom tells Odessa, “Some of us [monsters] were made” (137). Monstrosity, then, is not always natural; it is often manufactured.

Indeed, disregard for nature in the name of human advancement is at the heart of many examples of monstrosity in the novel. The fact that Luella, a sweet and loving woman, is behind the Lyssa infection further complicates this question of monstrousness. Though her intentions were pure—she wanted to ensure her children were strong enough to survive the crux migration—the action itself turns out to be monstrous due to its horrific consequences. Meanwhile, King Ramsey’s obsession with replicating Ransom’s strength using Lyssa-infected soldiers turns him into one of the novel’s clearest examples of a human monster. His willingness to infect, manipulate, and discard his own people reframes monstrosity as a function of intent and exploitation.

In the novel’s closing chapter, Perry delivers one last destabilizing image: The crux transforms into a human woman with hair identical to Odessa’s. This moment collapses any remaining divide between monster and human. If monsters can be people, and people can create monsters, then the definition becomes extremely convoluted. Ultimately, Shield of Sparrows suggests that monstrousness is not a fixed state or easily identified categorization but a fluid thing and a matter of perspective.