Fourth Wing by
Rebecca Yarros
My rating:
3 of 5 stars
This book begins with a warning, a caution to its contents. Which I think is very apt for this book as it behaves mostly like a pack of cigarettes. Tasty, strangely satisfying, but, ultimately, not good for you. The warning exists not so much because it's dark but rather because it might be a little much for the younger audience it is intended for. Sure there's a lot of violence, death, and sex, but I didn't find it to be particularly nerve-racking. I was born reading dark literature, molded by it. I didn't read anything cheerful until I was already a man and it was nothing to me but sappy nonsense. So I walked away from this book feeling more like I had taken some nerdy drugs than rather having read anything that might have harmed my soul. This is a shame, for what I found to be a mostly enjoyable book, I still can't get a bitter taste from my mouth.
I suppose the first thing I'll tackle is the book's horniness. If you ignore the dragons, magic, and murder, this novel is almost scene for scene the abject picture of a coed college dorm. Which is why everyone is thirstier than the Death Valley summer tour group. I didn't mind this aspect too much, in fact I found it to be rather charming at times, but there's a tonal shift about the book's 2/3rds mark. What was mostly played off in the background or as tension between certain characters, quickly becomes content usually reserved for the OnlyFans account. That, in and of itself, was fine. It wasn't the best written boning down I've ever read, but it was fine. What turned me off was how quickly lust turns into a rather poorly conceived idea of love. The two characters that end up falling in love, I feel, aren't really in love. They're just both really clingy.
The book is also terribly predictable. What is normally described as Checkov's gun, here, I call Checkov's problem. The world-building is clunky and inorganic, so, whenever a detail is mentioned, the reader knows what change to the plot is coming. It's actually why I have a complete and total hatred for the establishment of rules in writing. It leads to writing that is formulaic and all sounding the same. And this book follows the Checkov rule like she has a gun pointed at her head. The sad thing is, there's nothing here that is trope or cliche. Sure it takes ideas we've seen before, like dragons, but not story elements or characters. This book is truly original in many ways and it makes me weep what might have been if the author was more fixated on the writing rather than the formula.
I think my only other major issue with this book is the pacing. I was leaning towards a 4-star rating throughout most of my read-through but settled on 3-stars by the time I approached the end. There's a major game change towards the end that was the one and only surprising thing that happens throughout the plot. The problem is that almost everything that happens from that point on has nothing to do with the book itself, it has to do with setting up the sequel. Because everything has to be a fucking series. Kurt Vonnegut described a novel's plot as the story of a person falling into a hole. The person is introduced, person falls in hole, person climbs out of hole. The game changer is the person falling in the hole part. The beginning of the second part, i.e. the middle. Not the end. The book has confused instigation with climax. Something I found to be ironic.
There's much to like in this book. There really is. The prose is well-written, we have interesting characters. The book just spends so much time in first gear it never really has a chance to let loose. My problem is that I'm too much of a drifter. Moving from book to book like the player I am. Something that strives to be a series needs to be truly compelling and have enough satisfying closed plot points in order for me to stay long enough for breakfast. While I had my fun, it just wasn't good enough and was checked out before it even really ended.
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