#Also! Aaric being unable and unwiling to explain himself in advance was just. so stupid.

[wutheringmights]

Okay but I really want to see your review of Onyx Storm though because I can’t help but feel like this one was a lot safer in terms it’s themes regarding misinformation and propaganda than the last two books. Idk how to explain it properly. It just feels hollow

I don’t blame you for thinking the book is shallow and builds nothing on the series’s supposed themes of propaganda and misinformation-- Onyx Storm says nothing about it. Both Fourth Wing and Iron Flame had major plot points centered around uncovering some truth that had been obscured by the government. At best, Onyx Storm has a plotline about Violet’s dad being cryptic as hell. It’s a stretch to call it propaganda or whatever. 

We’ve already exhausted the existing misinformation plot line in Navarre. Yarros has to take it a step further. The natural progression from “there’s a secret war beyond our borders” is “the dehumanized enemy beyond our borders is human and possibly morally correct.” After we went out of our way to meet Theophanie, I was certain this was where we were going to go. Hell, Xaden was slowly turning into one! What an easy albeit cliche way to complicate the war.

 But, no. The story refuses to evolve. The venin are still horrific freaks of nature, and it is still right and just to kill them. They’re evil, and we’re good. I won’t put it past Yarros to wait until the last minute to pull this move, but I also wouldn’t be surprised if she never does it at all. 

Onyx Storm’s biggest problem is that it spends the bulk of its time on world building that ultimately does not matter. We spend hundreds of pages going to islands that’s not even on the inside cover's map, learning about their cultures, and getting nothing of value from it. The world building is shallow, painting their cultures in cartoonishly broad strokes. Here’s the warrior nation, here’s the smart people, here’s the partygoers-- these are really basic ideas! Where’s the substance?

The most valuable world building we get is more on how the gods work in this world, but it never quite feels like it’s important. Yes, one of the big plot points at the end of the book involves one of the gods. But until now, when has religion mattered to any of the main characters? There’s a scene where our main cast sits in a tavern (drinking lavender lemonade, of all things) and compares the religious differences between Navarre and Poromiel. Why am I learning about this through a table discussion? This could have been developed organically through the characters’ behaviors. But it’s not because, despite what a hearty lemonade-fueled debate would imply, none of them have been any shade of religious up until this moment. 

I harp on the religion point a lot because it’s the most thorough world building Yarros has to offer. When it comes to the cross-isle adventure, it’s the point she falls back onto again and again. Here’s a new country, here is the god they worship, and here is how that religion colors our entire cultural understanding of these people. None are more egregious than the last nation we make contact with. They worship some luck god, and our entire experience with them is more or less just a gameshow performance for a crowd. This is the only nation we make a meaningful political alliance with. That their soldiers are present in the final battle is vital. We only know these people through a weird lottery game. That’s it. 

There are smaller world building points she throws in as well, but none have as much thought dedicated to them as the religion. For example, it seems like all of these isles have a native language with some important people knowing the common tongue. Great. So... what is the common tongue? Navarre doesn’t seem to have a native language, so is their language the common tongue? If so, why? They’ve been isolationists for hundreds of years. Why would anyone need to know their language? If they have their own language, then why does Violet and all of her friends know the common tongue when, again, they’re from an isolationist nation? 

Why is there a common language? When it appears in fantasy works, it’s less because the author appreciates pidgin languages and the worldbuilding they require, and more because they do not want to deal with the logistics of characters of multiple cultural backgrounds being unable to understand each other. That’s fine. I am more than happy to accept a common tongue the same way I accept potatoes in a European-based fantasy.  

But Yarros clearly establishes Dain as the group translator. His entire purpose in our little quest squad is to translate.You have a translator. You don’t need a common tongue. But you do, so all of the effort you went through to build Dain up as a polyglot is wasted. He never gets to do any translational work. Why are you offering two solutions to the same problem? You did twice the work for no reason. 

(Put a pin in Dain-- I will have more to say about him later.)

What stings the most is that we know that all of this effort is for nothing. None of these extra island nations matter. We will never go to them again, and what importance they have will never justify the number of pages dedicated to them. This is a waste of time. 

Why are we spending so much time world building these nations when we still have very little idea about Navarre and Poromiel? Does anyone actually know what life is like for the average citizen of either country? How do they dress? What jobs are available to them? What do they do for fun? I barely have a grasp of the level of technology in this world. In fact, I keep forgetting that this is in a fantasy world and not some urban fantasy story.

Yarros’s characters don’t really mesh with the setting either. From the very first novel, the main cast has been a little too-aware that they are characters in a book-- they know they are in a fantasy story, and they think this is all very, very cool. 

Any suggestion of a situation being dangerous is undercut by a character’s sense that this is really cool or, conversely, really annoying. Unlike the earlier books, everyone in Onyx Storm quips like they’re in a Marvel movie. Every conversation is bloated by a barrage of  jokes. No one takes the setting seriously, which means that I don’t quite believe in the world we’re in. 

Moreso, some of Violet’s narration is... you know what? Just look at this:

Xaden’s hand tightens around mine, and he leans down to brush his lips against my ear. “The shadows here are not mine. I know your skill with a dagger. I’m not discounting your ability to protect yourself, but for the good of my sanity while I try to get Halden out of whatever mess he’s created, will you please stay by my side?” I nod. How can I not? He’s not asking me to hide behind him, nor did he leave me with Tairn to keep me safe. He’s just asking me to stay close. (226)

Are you serious? Why would you say this unless you know you’re in a romantasy novel written and published for BookTok? Why would a character reassure herself that she is still a strong independent female protagonist? Why is the fourth wall paper thin? 

Here’s another example:

“Nope.” I brush a kiss across his lips, knowing I wont need to use the weapons. “It wouldn’t be the first time I raised a blade to you.” He stares, utterly bewildered, then flashes a grin. “I’m not sure what that says about us.” Is it toxic? Maybe. Is it us? Absolutely. (408)

This one manages to replicate the feeling of spotting a SEO valuable word, but in print. Yarros, you’re just lying to the audience now. We all know Violet and Xaden aren’t toxic because every time something outside the bounds of the modern Hays Code happens, you pad it with reassurances to the reader that, truly, this is a very healthy relationship. 

I’m putting “toxic relationship” on a shelf, and I’m not giving it back until people absolve characters of the responsibility of being role models and they get to be the fucked up little freaks I crave. 

Beyond annoying quips and self-aware narration, a lot of plot armor is endowed onto the main cast by virtue of them being the main cast. On three different occasions, Violet and company disobey military orders and risk being court-martial. Every time, they avoid suffering the consequences of their actions. Why? Because Violet is too important to arrest (she’s not), or she uses a clever loophole to absolve herself of blame (the law does not work like that). 

It’s staggering how much the main cast breaks military law, and how little they suffer for it. General Aetos is supposed to be a villain, but honestly, I’m on his side; I too would be pissed if these bozos kept on endangering themselves and their comrades out of some stupid belief that they are more important than everyone else. 

This is such a weird trend when the previous books were really clear about the stakes of insubordination and the consequences of rebellion. Violet was tortured in Iron Flame. Where did that energy go? If Yarros let Violet suffer the consequences of her actions, she could have had something to pad out the plot between the end of the island quest and the beginning of the final act. As is, there’s a hundred-plus page slump where nothing of importance really happens. 

But Violet and company are the heroes, so the narrative will bend over backwards and comply with irrational logic to allow them to continue to do cool heroic things like breaking the rules and stuff. 

The strangest instance of the book’s self awareness is how the narrative treats Dain. 

As previously established, I think Dain is the most reasonable character in the series. Did he mess up in the first book? Sure, but given what he knew, it was the correct decision. He has continued to be a bastion of sanity since. And, because everyone kinda hates him, I’ve made it my mission to go up to bat for him. 

Dain is never out of character. He’s still the reasonable one. But god, the narrative sure likes to make him look like a loser. His contributions to the quest are negated both by the common tongue and by another character, Aaric, being a better polyglot than him. In a ritualistic fight, he’s the first person to be knocked out; and I assume the post-fight scene features him prone on the ground and bleeding out because he’s not mentioned past it. During the gameshow scene, he’s bitchslapped-- a “gift” far more humiliating than what everyone else receives. 

At one point, the cast cracked jokes about Dain being no help and his presence ultimately being pointless. Yeah, Dain doesn’t have to be here. He serves so little purpose that he can be written out of the storyline. But he’s here to be mocked because Yarros knows the reader wants to see the loser second male lead humiliated. 

I’m not even offended as much as baffled by it. I don’t think Yarros hates Dain. If she did, his treatment would be far more egregious. Instead, every joke made at his expense feels like a wink at the audience, like we’re collectively making fun of our ex-boyfriend. The narrative has to commit to Dain being the reasonable one, but it still wants to play into a fandom joke. 

Stop winking! The fourth wall should not be this transparent. Respect your narrative, your world building, and your characters! I begging you, on my knees, to be sincere for more than two seconds. If the book can’t ascribe to its own premise, how can I suspend my disbelief?

I don’t think this is so much of a symptom of Yarros not giving a shit or being a bad writer. I think Yarros can write, and I think she cares about composing a good story. I also think she is influenced by the goals of her publishing house, Red Tower Books. While every publishing house is ultimately a capitalist cog, Red Tower Books was engineered to prioritized marketing above all else. The New Yorker’s profile on the Tracy Wolf plagiarism case provides some context as to how Red Tower Books operates. (Site note: what gives software engineers the audacity to think they can “revolutionize” everything but software engineering?)

 All Yarros wants is to sell you a good time. That means not complicating your premise with sticky moral quandaries. It means abstaining from rigorous, thoughtful world building. And it means prioritizing a figment of fun over plot coherence. She never tries to sell us anything else. We should stop asking for more.