I remember pulling Eragon off of the shelf eight years ago. I remember asking the man at the counter if the book was really worth my while (I was such a hopeless geek, even back then). I remember spending 30 of my hard earned dollars on the hardcover copy, with the stunning blue dragon on the front. And I remember loving that book with all of my heart.
Was 2003 really that long ago? I find myself looking back on the first few years of the twenty-first century and wondering, where did the time go? In 2003 I was 14. Today, I am a 22-year-old wondering how she got so old.
Christopher Paolini started writing Eragon when he was 15 years old. As an aspiring author, I was immediately fascinated by him. When my teacher asked me to write about who my hero was that year, I wrote about Paolini.
Eragon was soon followed by the second novel in the series, Eldest in 2005, which was followed by Brisingr, the series’ third installation, in 2008. As each book was released, I got a little bit older. But it was not until the final novel was released last week, on Nov. 8, 2011, that I began to wonder if I was getting too old for this kind of book.
The Inheritance Cycle is a series of books that follows the story of a young farm boy named Eragon who finds a dragon egg. Things obviously become more complicated — these are fantasy novels after all — but the series is basically a coming-of-age story that borrows heavily from the minds of Anne McCaffrey and J.R.R. Tolkien. But, in spite of the often heavy handed criticism dished out by the literary community, I stand behind my affection for the dragon books I’ve read and am ready to defend Eragon and Paolini’s honour to the death.
Inheritance is the last book in the series. In 2011, I paid 30 hard earned dollars for a beautiful hard cover copy with a glowing green dragon on the book jacket. I powered through the nearly 900 pages in no time at all.
For the devoted readers of a series, a 900-page conclusion is one of the best gifts an author can give to their fans. We don’t want it to end, and the author graciously draws out the moment when we will have to say goodbye to the characters that we have long considered close friends.
The entire cast is back in full force: Eragon and Saphira are the heroes of this tale, the rider and his dragon respectively. Murtagh is the conflicted good guy who turned bad. Arya is the elven love interest, who also happens to kick all kinds of ass. Nasuada is the leader of the resistance movement against the evil king of the land, Galbatorix.
But in the end, it was nostalgia that buoyed this book, keeping it afloat in an ocean of literary troubles (having an English degree this time around made this an uncomfortable reality).
The plot is lengthy and often feels forced. The characters feel strangely like archetypes and the style of dialog is constant, no matter who is speaking.
In all, painful honesty, the biggest problem was not the story, it was not the characters, nor was it the heavily clichéd moments. By this point, four books later, I am already in love with all of the characters; I am understand that I am reading fantasy, and so the normal rules don’t always apply. For every clichéd metaphor, there is a stunningly original description to balance.
The biggest issue with Inheritance is how it felt — Paolini seems tired. The text sags beneath the weight of my gaze. After thousands of pages, the story felt finished, wrung out, sapped of all its strength and sparkle. The exuberance that touched the earlier books is lost in this final installment.
In spite of this criticism, Inheritance is a fine conclusion for an impressive children’s fantasy series. Looking back on 2003, I would not have done anything differently. Even now, eight years later, I am more than willing to climb the spectacular spiral staircase up into the children’s section of McNally Robinson, just to wrap my frantic fingers around the hardcover copy of the book with the beautiful dragon on the front.
In my opinion, everyone should forget that they are adults, who are supposed to read complex, critically acclaimed fiction. Instead, we should all try spending 900 pages in the body of our teenage selves. Riding dragons is just way more fun.
