I made a comment on a recent post about the most unhinged book you’re ever read and that made me post an excerpt of my review of the book. Here’s the full review. I didn’t really like the book but let me know if you did like it and why!
Intro
The Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros has all the ingredients of a fantasy bestseller—dragons, romance, danger, and a brutal magical academy. It’s been hailed as the next big thing in romantasy, and it’s easy to see why: the setup is addictive. But while the concept soars, the execution struggles to get off the ground. Despite a few personal soft spots—like its magical school setting—it ultimately left me frustrated with its writing, characters, and shallow attempts at representation.
The Good
To be fair, there is something entertaining about the setting. I’m a sucker for the magical school format (lifelong Harry Potter fan), and this scratched that itch just enough to keep me going. The competitive structure, the dragon bonding system, and the do-or-die exams give the story momentum. If you like your fantasy dramatic, fast-paced, and easy to binge, this will probably deliver.
Also? The dragons are the best part. Her dragon in particular is a grumpy, sharp-tongued curmudgeon who steals every scene he's in. He’s one of the few characters who doesn’t feel like a meme or a trope, and his dry disdain for the chaos around him is genuinely enjoyable. It’s just a shame the book surrounding him doesn’t live up to that same bite.
The Bad
Where do I start? First, the writing. The prose is full of recycled gestures—every character is constantly arching eyebrows, ticking jaws, crossing arms,flashing a grin, biting their lower lip, or “feeling heat” rush somewhere (spoiler: it’s almost never subtle). The repetition gets so heavy-handed it starts to feel like a parody of itself. Dialogue is stilted, and the emotional moments land with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
Secondly there's the language. Everyone swears constantly—constantly. It’s like the word “fuck” is the only adjective anyone knows. The tone swings wildly between forced edginess and Tumblr-era sass. Characters drop modern phrases and slang that feel wildly out of place in a fantasy setting. No one actually says “skibidi,” but they’re close. Even the professors talk like overcaffeinated 14-year-olds on Discord. Whatever immersive world-building the story tries to create gets completely undercut by dialogue that feels ripped from a TikTok comment thread.
Then there’s the romance. Billed as “enemies to lovers,” it’s more like mild tension to insta-thirst. Violet spends about three pages being wary of Xaden, and the rest of the book swooning over how “dangerous” and “hot” he is. The dynamic is shallow at best and exhausting at worst. There’s no real emotional arc—just constant inner monologue about rippling muscles and forbidden longing. It’s hard to care when it feels like the romantic tension was pulled from a Pinterest board titled “Dark Broody Man, But Make It Horny.”
If you want a sample of the vibe, here’s a real line from Violet’s internal monologue:
“Even the diagonal scar that bisects his left eyebrow and marks the top corner of his cheek only makes him hotter. Flaming hot. Scorching hot. Gets-you-into-trouble-and-you-like-it level of hot. Suddenly, I can’t remember exactly why Mira told me not to fuck around outside my year group.”
And just in case that didn’t make you wince hard enough:
‘’My gaze snaps to Xaden, and my chest. So. Freaking. Beautiful. Apparently my body doesn't care that he's as dangerous as they come in the quadrant, because heat rushes through my veins, flushing my skin.”
It reads like a Wattpad fever dream. The constant obsession with how “beautiful” and “dangerous” he is quickly stops being romantic and just feels lame.
And finally, the plot. As much as the book tries to maintain tension, it’s painfully predictable. You can see the twist ending coming from page two. Every supposed surprise is telegraphed far in advance, and the story follows familiar beats so closely it starts to feel like a checklist.
Even the world-building feels sleazy and shallow. We only ever know exactly what the plot needs us to know—with the exception of some choreographed massive info dumps, where characters spout awkward exposition like, “Hey, do you remember that one time we had a civil war and we punished them?” “Ah yes, that major historical event we all lived through. Please explain it to me again for the benefit of the reader.” It’s the kind of world-building that pretends to be deep, but collapses under any real scrutiny—something Harry Potter was guilty of too, though at least it had the whimsy to distract us. Here, it’s all set-dressing and shortcuts.
The Ugly
The book trees to give the illusion of high stakes by killing off a lot of characters—but the problem is, most of them are so underdeveloped that their deaths barely register. It's like, Oh no, someone died? Were we supposed to care?There’s no weight to it because the book doesn’t bother to flesh these people out before tossing them off a cliff.
Then there’s the representation angle. There’s a visible effort to include queer and non-binary characters, but it feels more like marketing than meaningful inclusion. These characters aren’t given depth or narrative purpose—they’re just there, like scenery. Meanwhile, the male leads are treated like fantasy cover models come to life, all chiseled torsos and simmering stares. The objectification is so relentless it borders on sexism. For a book that presents itself as modern and inclusive, it ends up feeling strangely outdated and hollow.
On a similar note, Violet is meant to be a disabled character—frail, often in pain, and physically at a disadvantage in her brutal training environment. That sounds like a bold narrative choice, and it could’ve added real depth. But in practice? It’s barely explored beyond how tiny and delicate it makes her look next to her towering, muscle-bound love interest. Her disability becomes part of the romantic aesthetic—fetishized, not felt. “Oh Violet, you’re so small and fragile, you only reach Xaden’s massive chest muscles”—we get that kind of line far more than any serious attention to what it means to live in her body. Inclusion, once again, feels like a costume the book puts on for clout.
Conclusion
The Fourth Wing is flashy, fast-paced, and very readable—but it’s also shallow, repetitive, and frustratingly unpolished. If you love magical school settings and dramatic romance, it might still be worth the ride. But if you’re hoping for strong writing, believable romance, or characters you actually care about, this one doesn’t deliver. A fun premise let down by its execution.
by Angkardian