A few of my friends independently suggested fantasy-with-fucking novel Fourth Wing. I've read fantasy manga for girls, but never a western romantasy story. I'm not the target audience for fantasy-with-fucking; my favorite author solves mysteries with train timetables. My kind of romance peaks with a smile, and words like "length" and "entrance" are reserved for rulers and labyrinths respectively. But I like to guess why my friends turn their pages, and here I am 1124 pages later (I use a big font).
Fourth Wing is about Violet Sorrengail, who's been forced out of the dweeb librarian college track into dragon-rider military school by the toughest, cruelest person ever: her mom. Violet's peers expect the world and more from her ultra-famous name. General "Mom" Sorrengail kicked ass for a living, then birthed Jesus, Wonder Woman and finally weak little nerd Violet before getting back to work on ass. Unfortunately for Violet, many of her classmates are the conscripted children of rebels demolished by the Sorrengails. Those peers expect her to die, ideally screaming.
Violet is a saucy little gremlin. Her small frame makes her a sorry fighter, a ridiculous dragon-rider, and an easy target. Faced with these problems, she flips them off, then either cheats or baits failure until someone helps her. It's her strategy for the whole book: deny reality until god solves her problem by invalidating the challenge, sending down a champion in the form of her sister, a hunk, a dragon, three idiots who can't beat a little girl three-on-one, or the nut who composed the school rules centuries ago.
The champions that solve Violet's problems are all enslaved to her somehow. Her sister Mira is family. Misguided hunk Dain is a childhood friend. Shifty hunk Xaden dies if she dies, same for her dragons. Violet's bestie Rhiannon owes Violet her life, and Liam the bodyguard is following Xaden's orders, to whom Liam owes his life. Nothing would change if she were cruel, sweet, tough, weak, or barking mad. Her defenders are all tied irrevocably to this creature called Violet Sorrengail.
What does it mean to be Violet Sorrengail? Tiny, smart, tenacious? Horny for golden flecks in onyx eyes? The book and most characters call her smart, starting with her sister Mira:
Mira yanks on my braid, pulling my head back, and our eyes lock. "You're the smartest woman I know. Don't forget that. Your brain is your best weapon. Outsmart them, Violet. Do you hear me?"
Violet's dad praised her mind back when he was alive:
Your mind already knows the answer, so just calm down and let it remember. That's what Dad always told me.
Xaden, Violet's mysterious love interest, even calls her intelligence sexy—the only time in the whole book any character says to anyone I am attracted to you for a non-chemistry reason:
"And you are strong and fierce and have a ruthless streak, too. Not to mention you're the smartest person I've ever met. That mind of yours is sexy as hell."
Wise Professor Kaori calls her more brilliant and more compassionate than either of her godly siblings:
"Violet," Professor Kaori calls out, and I pivot to look back. "I taught both your siblings. Brennan was a spectacular rider and a good man. Mira is shrewd and gifted in the seat when it comes to riding." I nod.
"But you're smarter than both of them." I blink. It's not often I get compared to my brother and sister and somehow come out on top.
"From what I've seen of you helping your friend study in commons every night, it seems you might be more compassionate, too. Don't forget that."
And her bonded dragon Tairn calls her not just smart but cunning, courageous, righteous:
You are the smartest of your year. The most cunning. I gulp at the compliment, brushing it off. I was trained as a scribe, not a rider. You defended the smallest with ferocity. And strength of courage is more important than physical strength.
Violet's pet bouncer Liam calls her a dextrous fighter:
"I've seen you practicing this week with those blades of yours, Sorrengail. Riorson was right. You would have been wasted as a scribe."
As does Xaden:
"I have zero concern about that. As violent as you are, and skilled with those daggers, I'm not even sure you could kill a fly. Don't think I didn't notice that you managed to wound three of them and never went for a kill shot." He shoots a disapproving look my way.
Violet's friend Rhiannon calls her the strongest of her generation:
"You're all worried about the integrity of the wing because Riorson might have to visit to keep his dragon happy but, Violet, he's not the most powerful rider of our generation. You are." She holds my gaze just long enough to let me know she means it. My heart lurches into my throat.
Never mind whether all these assessments are accurate. What's important is that they are all labels. You are smart. You are cunning. You are compassionate. You are better than your siblings. They're all evaluations of the spirit, just like MBTIs, star signs, blood type horoscopes, nobility, or GRYFFINDOR! Everyone who takes a measurement agrees there's something there worth measuring. Check your soul for a manufacturer's tag—hopefully it says libra, blue eyes, chosen one, and whatever it's attached to must be you. Being Violet Sorrengail means getting a lot of labels.
Fourth Wing has its own label for the soul. Dragon riders get a magic "signet" power (and matching tattoo) whose nature reveals their own nature, "reflecting who you are at the core of your being." Brooding, secretive pest Xaden controls shadows, and Violet unlocks lightning explosion powers just in time for an electrifying climax in chapter thirty, which is the chapter with the fucking. Signet powers can be almost anything, but no one knows what kind of magic they'll get until they get it. Some unfortunates turn out to be mind-readers, or "inntinnsics." Mind-readers are banned from school and from being alive.
Jeremiah's signet power is manifesting. He can read minds—an inntinnsic. His power is a death sentence.
He turns again, focused on Dain. "Is Violet going to hate me forever? Why can't she see that I just want to keep her alive? How is he…? He's reading my thoughts!" The impression is uncanny, embarrassing, and terrifying.
"He's an inntinnsic!" someone shouts, and that seems to be all that's necessary.
The professor grips Jeremiah's head with both hands, and a crack echoes off the walls of the silent courtyard. Jeremiah falls to the ground, his head at an unnatural, macabre angle. His neck is broken.
Innocent Jeremiah! Born Chapter 18, died Chapter 18 of sudden cancellation. His label read SINNER. It may have been hidden under some of that silly silver scratch-off coating, but it was always there. Would have come out eventually. Sorry, Neil Gaiman.
Mind reader! Fantasy of fantasies. Why spit on them in Fourth Wing? Professor Carr, the executioner, says their unhindered access to classified material makes them "a security risk to the entire kingdom." Ok, so keep them inside. Are you stupid? It's like declining the next evolution of sliced bread! This is version two of anti-terrorism! The sequel to interrogation!
Never mind. Dain, the bulky childhood friend, can read memories. When Dain touches somebody, he sees images of what really happened, while mind-readers merely parrot inner voices. The characters agree that Dain's memory powers are OK, but that thought powers are worse than murder (see: Jack Barlowe, mega murderer). Forget about the value contrast, that's the same trick as arguments that go like You had a thought I don't like? Fuck you! or I remember it this way, so that's the truth! What matters is that Fourth Wing presents thoughts and memory as equivalent to hard evidence. Isn't that fantastic? Humans defer to the soul; only beasts like dragons and hunks do not. Not until they're subjugated, at least.
In Fourth Wing, dragons are intelligent, violent, awesome creatures, lounging around the school, acting kind of like hall monitors who might incinerate you for flinching at the bell. They can speak but don't bother. Dragons melt dozens of students as punishment for running in fear (from dragons) or for flipping sass (at dragons). Dragons do not care about your thoughts or memories—they only look at what you say and what you do. Pause for the soul, and you're no longer a dragon. No one pauses for Violet Sorrengail. To them, she's the dragon.
Violet's soul came with a tag screaming VIOLET SORRENGAIL, GODDESS in fabulous capital letters. Her signet magic is classically-the-weapon-of-gods lightning explosion powers. Mom saw the label and Violet feels it itching; no wonder she's irritable when Dain and others mistake the consequences of destiny for fortune. Only Xaden penetrates the label and speaks directly to the lonely creature scratching at that damn tag. Praise for Violet Sorrengail just makes the frightened girl inside uncomfortable! Only once is she pleased by a complement. Xaden teaches her a technique that minimizes mental damage from their dragons fucking, and she masters it instantly:
Xaden studies me with an intensity that makes me sway toward him. "You are astonishing." He shakes his head. "I couldn't do that for weeks." The emotion swelling through me is more than joy. It's euphoria that has me grinning like a fool. I'm finally not only good at something, but astonishing.
Violet never expresses euphoria at anything else, nor does the word "euphoria" appear anywhere else in the book. Finally, a win that wasn't invalidated by her name, her family, or her friends. The little girl locked away inside the library has finally been praised for something that was all her. It's the invisible, internal me that's astonishing.
To me, her big win looks like she just closed her eyes and calmed down.
You gotta start somewhere.