Why readers can’t get enough of fragile girls who turn into deadly warriors (and why it says more about us than the book)

Let’s be real for a second.
I picked up Fourth Wing because I had no choice. The hype was everywhere — TikTok, Instagram, Discord groups, bookish newsletters, even the girl next to me in a café whispering something about “Tairn” like he was a real person. So I gave in. I was curious. Was this book really as magical as everyone claimed?

Short answer: no.
Longer answer: not really, but also yes — depending on what you’re looking for.

Because here’s the thing: Fourth Wing isn’t revolutionary in terms of plot or prose. It’s predictable, often cliché, and you’ll probably guess the ending by page 100.
And yet — I flew through it.
I devoured it like candy. Fast, fun, sugar-coated candy, laced with trauma and dragon sarcasm.

So what gives? Why are so many readers — especially women — so deeply obsessed with a story that’s technically nothing new?

Well, that’s where things get psychologically spicy.

The Rise of the Fragile Girl-Turned-Warrior Fantasy

(aka Why we love watching Violet Sorrengail go from breakable to badass)

Let’s talk about Violet Sorrengail — not the dragon-rider she becomes, but the fragile, hesitant, not-meant-to-survive girl who walks into Basgiath War College like a sheep surrounded by wolves.

She’s small.
She’s breakable.
She’s chronically underestimated.
People literally place bets on how quickly she’ll die. Her own mother, a stone-cold general, pushes her into a world built to destroy the weak — fully expecting her daughter to either rise or break.

And in any other story, Violet might’ve broken. But not here.

Because this isn’t just character development.
This is wish fulfillment — at a deeply psychological level.

This is the fantasy so many of us carry quietly inside:

“What if they were wrong about me?”
“What if I am stronger than I look?”
“What if all the softness they mocked is actually power waiting to be claimed?”

The Universal Appeal: Why We Are Violet

This trope — the frail girl who becomes powerful — isn’t new. From Katniss Everdeen to Celaena Sardothien, we’ve seen it before. But there’s something about Violet that hits differently. Maybe it’s the limp. Maybe it’s the way she’s intellectual, not instinctively physical. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t want to be in this world — and yet chooses to fight anyway.

And we — the readers — we’ve been her.

We’ve walked into spaces where we didn’t belong.
Felt like outsiders in our own bodies.
Been told we’re too emotional, too delicate, too much or not enough.
And instead of fighting back with fists, we swallowed our feelings, shrank ourselves, survived in silence.

So when Violet doesn’t just survive, but becomes a warrior, it hits somewhere deep.

The Psychology Behind It All

Here’s where it gets fascinating — and very real.

In psychology, self-projection refers to the tendency of individuals to project their own feelings, desires, fears, and hopes onto a fictional character. The more relatable the character’s vulnerabilities, the stronger the emotional bond.

And Violet? She’s vulnerability personified.
Chronic illness. Trust issues. Fear. Doubt. Trauma.
But instead of being swallowed by them, she rises through them.

Which brings us to empowerment fantasy — the narrative structure that allows readers to experience power, control, and agency vicariously.
We don’t just watch Violet succeed — we succeed with her.

In a world where many of us feel powerless in our own lives — stuck in systems we can’t control, bodies that don’t cooperate, relationships that minimize us — Violet’s journey becomes a psychological sandbox. Through her, we get to imagine a version of ourselves that refuses to stay small. That earns respect. That becomes unignorable.

It’s Not Just Escape — It’s Emotional Rewiring

The fragile-girl-turned-warrior narrative is more than escapism.
It’s emotional rehearsal.

Reading about Violet overcoming physical limitations, societal doubt, and even her own self-sabotage, activates the same neurological pathways in our brains as actual personal achievement. That means our brains register her victories as emotional blueprints — the possibility that we, too, could face something impossible and survive it.

According to neuroscientific studies on narrative transportation, when we are deeply immersed in a story, we don’t just understand the protagonist — we actually experience their emotions. That means every time Violet chooses to fight instead of fold, some tiny part of us does too.

In other words, Fourth Wing is not just entertainment.
It’s mental strength training in fantasy form.

Why We’re Obsessed with Watching Her Win

We cheer for Violet not because she’s flawless, but because she’s flawed exactly the way we are. She doubts herself. She overthinks. She hides her pain. She doesn’t come in swords blazing — she comes in scared, and soft, and real.

And that’s what makes her wins so satisfying.

Because the truth is:
We don’t want to see perfect people winning perfect battles.
We want to see ourselves — scared, quiet, unsure — still standing at the end.
Still worthy.
Still powerful.

That’s why this trope endures. Why Fourth Wing broke TikTok. Why Violet Sorrengail has become a household name in BookTok circles. She’s not just a character — she’s a mirror, reflecting back all the times we were told we weren’t enough and asking:

What if that wasn’t true?

Why It Works So Well (Even When It Shouldn’t)

Let’s be honest: the world-building in Fourth Wing isn’t perfect. The violence is intense but often stylized. The romance is hot, but formulaic. And the training montages? Straight out of a CW show.

But none of that really matters.
Because the fantasy of becoming someone stronger is more important than the realism.

When we read Violet, we’re not just reading about a girl in a fictional war college — we’re revisiting every moment we felt small. Every time someone told us we couldn’t. Every time we stayed quiet, got overlooked, or felt like we didn’t belong.

And then we watch her rise.

That’s addictive. That’s affirming. That’s healing.

Even if we see the plot twists coming, even if the writing sometimes veers into Wattpad-esque territory — we stay. Because what she represents is bigger than the book itself.

“It’s Not That Deep” — Except, It Kind Of Is

It’s easy to dismiss Fourth Wing as just another fantasy-romance with dragons and a hot, brooding love interest (hi, Xaden). And on the surface, it is. But under that, it taps into some very real psychological needs:

• The need to be seen as more than our weaknesses
• The hope that strength can grow from vulnerability
• The belief that we can be chosen — by dragons, by fate, by ourselves

And yes, I rolled my eyes at times. Yes, the romance was painfully predictable. Yes, the training sequences were suspiciously convenient.
But when Tairn — the world’s grumpiest dragon dad — starts bonding with Violet and defending her, I felt that.

I felt seen. I felt validated. I felt like maybe there’s a metaphorical dragon out there that would choose me, too.

Let’s Talk Dragons

Can we just agree that the dragons are the best part of this entire book?

Tairn’s dry wit and Andarna’s chaotic baby-energy gave me everything I didn’t know I needed. Their personalities, their interjections, their refusal to let Violet play small — it was like having inner voices that were actually rooting for her.

In fact, one of the most psychologically powerful elements of the book is this:
Violet’s support system grows stronger the more she believes in herself.
And that’s not fantasy — that’s facts.

Studies show that self-belief often attracts better outcomes, more trust, and stronger connections. The more Violet owns her place in Basgiath, the more the world bends to accept her — dragons included.

The Romance: Hot, But… Expected

Okay, now let’s talk about Xaden.
He’s broody. He’s tortured. He leans against doorframes with crossed arms and delivers lines like he rehearsed them in front of a mirror. And we love him for it.

But was the romance shocking? Not even a little.
You can see it from chapter one. You know where it’s going.
It’s all very… predictable.

That being said, it fits. The chemistry works, the tension is solid, and there’s just enough danger to make it steamy without being too edgy. It’s not revolutionary romance, but it does its job. The book wants you to feel empowered. It’s a win to have a love interest who both challenges and respects the heroine.

Still… give me more Mira. More General Sorrengail. More women who actually think.
(Thank you to both of them for existing.)

So Is It Overrated?

Yes.
And no.
It depends on what you’re looking for.

If you want brilliant prose, mind-bending plot twists, or gritty realism — this might disappoint you.

But if you want a book that makes you feel something, that speaks to your inner underdog, that reminds you you’re allowed to change, grow, and be chosen — then Fourth Wing might just hit the spot.

I gave it a 7/10.
Not because it’s bad — but because I know what it could have been.
And also because the sequel?
Miles better.

Find Your Inner Dragon

In the end, Fourth Wing is less about war and more about identity. About shedding the version of yourself that was shaped by fear and stepping into one shaped by possibility.

It tells us that even if we were born fragile, even if we were told we’d never make it — we can.
We can fight.
We can fly.
We can bond with something ancient and powerful inside us.

It might not be a real dragon.
But sometimes, all it takes is a story to remind us that strength was always there — just waiting to be chosen.

So go ahead. Add it to your TBR.
Cry a little. Laugh at Tairn. Roll your eyes at Xaden.
And then look at your own story and ask:

“What would happen if I stopped seeing myself as fragile?”

Because maybe, just maybe, you were the dragon all along.