How much does a book’s quality depend on where we are in our lives? How much does the number of stars in a book review actually change based on what’s happening to us when we open up a new story? Does a real life crisis turn an entertaining read into an escape?
Fourth Wing’s pacing was incredible. Every chapter felt like a natural cliffhanger that made me want to turn a few more pages before I set it down. Perhaps it was the uncertainty I was going through that made me even more desperate. If I couldn’t find out what was happening to me, at least I could find out what was happening to Violet, Xaden, or Liam.
I could relate to the impossibilities that were hard to accept.
There was Violet’s body. Her brittle bones, weak ligaments, and limited muscles. There were times she wished she was stronger, times she wished she was faster, times she wished she could do enough to save everyone. There were definite physical limitations.
Yes. I could relate. Sometimes my body doesn’t do what I tell it to do. There were many times on the court when I wanted to run faster, but couldn’t. I wouldn’t get to my opponent’s shot, and I would watch the ball bounce and pass me by. No matter how badly I wanted to make it in time, it wouldn’t matter. Sometimes I wouldn’t even get close enough to take a swing at the ball. It was infuriating. In the heat of the moment as a junior, I admit sometimes my sweat would mix with tears when I couldn’t physically do what my mind willed.
There were other circumstances, related even more to the main character. I recall telling my tendonitis-prone knee out loud to stop hurting. It ignored me. Violet dealt with much more pain, but I remember the days I trudged forward, wincing through the injuries and weaknesses that had compounded over time spent pounding and twisting my body over grating concrete.
Her body defied her. So had mine.
Just last week. My body defied me again, despite my verbal commands.
This time I said, “Don’t bleed.”
But I bled anyway.
I said, “Don’t let anything escape.”
But various tissues and textures in dark reds and burgundies fled from me all the same.
And when I said, “Don’t lose your baby.”
My body disobeyed yet again.
And on a cold day in February, I lost my baby.
Sorry. I forgot this was a book review I was writing. Back to Fourth Wing.
I liked the way the story sucked me in. Within three sentences, I was back in a school that apparently had the resources to kill off able-bodied warriors even though they had been at war for 400 years. But I liked to read about the firmness of Xaden’s biceps and the jealous, but obedient glances of Violet’s childhood love, Dain.
Late at night when I wondered if there was a second heartbeat still echoing in my belly, or when I passed enough blood to turn the toilet bowl red, or when my husband looked up with a faint smile asking if I was feeling any better…I craved more than ever a story where the threat of power-hungry, dustbowl phantoms that controlled ghost dragons was the only threat. That sounded better than the threat of miscarriage. And though I sobbed into my pillow when Liam’s dragon took an unforgivable dive, I wanted that to be the only critical loss of the week.
I didn’t want to lose anyone else.
But I did. Apparently she was the size of a cherry. Seems so small to think about losing such a little thing, especially comparing it to a towering, fire-breathing dragon. But the loss felt like I lost something of that size, something of that wonder, something irreplaceable and connected to my mind, body, and soul—similar to Yarros’ dragons.
The romance between Xaden and Violet was hot. Steamy. I know this is controversial, but I quite like when my fantasy books have the words “clit” and “cock” in them. I can’t help who I am. I refuse to be ashamed.
Sex and thirst aside, their attachment and need for each other was painfully felt. Being separated in battle was hard to read about. Being separated from my husband by grief and processing a loss in our own ways was painful for me. When I wanted to curl up together, my husband needed to be outside in the cold. He needed to move so as not to drown, and I needed to stay still so I could sink. He needed to exhaust himself until he couldn’t think, and I was already so exhausted I couldn’t put a thought together. And I have a hunch that he wanted to feel pain when I wanted the pain to go away.
Still. I had never needed him more. I had never been so desperate for him to come through. In the nights, he somehow knew when the tears were soaking my pillow and held me close. In the day, he led me away from the dishes or laundry or computer or God-forbid, my book, and tucked me into bed where I protested for all of 70 seconds before I fell into a restless sleep. He shook me awake when I dreamed that everything that was right was wrong. He placed a glass of water in my hand whenever I licked my lips. He tended to our son, playing hide and go seek and coloring on the whiteboard as if this were any other day. How he was able to take our son to music class for Valentine’s Day, just hours before our last trip to the hospital, I’ll never know. David’s not the type who can feign a smile when he’s not in the mood. Candland doesn’t know how lucky he is to be raised by this man who is always in the mood to be a father, no matter the wyvern he’s battling on the inside.
When Violet worried about Xaden rolling onto the ground where he was most vulnerable, I worried when David grew morbidly quiet after our son went to sleep. He was elsewhere, and I couldn’t help him. I could squeeze his shoulder, I could offer him a hug, I could tell him I loved him. But whatever was happening at his core, he would have to face alone. Similarly when Violet flew off of her dragon every other turn, I saw myself. Free falling. And it wasn’t up to David to catch me. And unlike Violet…I didn’t have a dragon. I didn’t have lightning.
Honestly, perhaps the closest thing I have to lightning is writing. This is how I defeat my own demons. This is how I get through a loss. This is how I fight my battles.
I write about it all. The love. The loss…
Dear Baby,
We buried Ava by the sunflowers. We will bury you out by Ava. I was so excited for Candland to have a sibling. And you are his sibling. But you will meet Ava first. Your dad is very jealous. When he talked about you, we called you our little doe. And when we wondered what you were like as you grew the last couple of months, the answer that came to us was “the forest.” Without meeting you, I know you are like woodland creatures, like evergreens that stand in a heavy morning fog, like ferns and wildflowers, and little twigs and pinecones. Ava is our sunflower, Candland is our moo, you are our little fawn.
Say hello to our first for us. In time, we’ll meet. I’ll know your smell and warmth and voice. Until then, I’ll dream of forests.
Oh… I suppose Fourth Wing was a good book. 5/5 stars for getting me through a week of uncertainty and waiting for a heartbeat that would never come back. I hope Book II will offer me more hope and less pain. There’s only one way to find out…