A Review of Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros

Growing up, books were my constant companions. It felt like I was born with a library card in hand, and my favorite place was the young adult section of my local library. I’d spend hours wandering the aisles, my stack of books growing taller with each pass. YA fantasy was my obsession—fast-paced adventures, epic battles, and love stories that kept me turning pages long past bedtime. "Just one more chapter" always turned into several, and I was more than happy to lose myself in these worlds.

Fast forward to today, and my reading habits have shifted. Between work, responsibilities, and the general chaos of adulthood, my reading time is squeezed into short moments—between meetings, during quick breaks, or as a stolen indulgence before sleep. I’ve also become more selective, often gravitating toward contemporary fiction about real people navigating real problems. Lately, though, I’ve felt a subtle pressure to read only the “right” kinds of books—the critically acclaimed, the literary must-reads—as if reading for pure enjoyment is somehow less valid.