Eragon: Chapter 11

Eragon, Chapter 11: The Doom of Innocence

Usually I try to refrain from commenting on the chapter titles, but how melodramatic is this one?  (Not to mention spoilery – even if you didn’t already know the basic plot of Star Wars, the title leaves very little room for doubt as to what happens.)  “Doom” is already a pretty melodramatic word anyway; sticking it up in the title pretty much makes it impossible to take your writing seriously.

When Eragon opened his eyes in the morning, he thought the sky had fallen.  An unbroken plane of blue stretched over his head and slanted to the ground.  Still half asleep, he reached out tentatively and felt a thin membrane under his fingers.  It took him a long minute to realize what he was staring at.

I actually like this passage.  I like the imagery of Saphira’s wing looking like a piece of sky; I like Eragon’s disorientation at waking up under strange circumstances.  Occasionally Paolini hits instead of missing, and I would say this is one of those times.  The rest of the paragraph, however…

He bent his neck slightly and glared at the scaly haunch his head rested on.  Slowly he pushed his legs out from his fetal curl, scabs cracking.  The pain had subsided some from yesterday, but he shrank from the thought of walking.  Burning hunger reminded him of his missed meals.  He summoned the energy to move and pounded weakly on Saphira’s side.  “Hey!  Wake up!” he yelled.

Wow, rude much?  I understand that Eragon is still angry about what happened yesterday, and still feeling the pain from that impromptu flight; that still doesn’t make it okay to start hitting and yelling at Saphira.  Notice how he doesn’t even try to wake her up through any other methods, or even see if she’s already awake – he just goes straight to physical violence.  Nice one, Eragon.

After taking some time to wake up, Eragon recognizes where he is: the clearing where he found the egg.  He thinks that Saphira must have figured out the location from his memories.  Then he decides it’s time to head back and confronts Saphira.

Saphira was waiting patiently for him.  Will you take me home? he asked her.  She cocked her head.  I know you don’t want to, but you must.  Both of us carry an obligation to Garrow.  He has cared for me and, through me, you.  Would you ignore that debt?

No, she really doesn’t owe Garrow anything.  She doesn’t know him.  She has never accepted anything from him.  Your debts are not automatically her debts, especially not in relation to your family.

What will be said of us in years to come if we don’t return – that we hid like cowards while my uncle was in danger?  I can hear it now, the story of the Rider and his craven dragon!  If there will be a fight, let’s face it and not shy away.  You are a dragon!  Even a Shade would run from you!  Yet you crouch in the mountains like a frightened rabbit.

Eragon meant to anger her, and he succeeded.

This is supposed to be your partner, Eragon.  You are supposed to be equals working together as a team.  You have a psychic connection which leaves you privy to Saphira’s emotions; you know how scared she is right now.  And instead of trying to allay her fears and convince her to go back because Garrow is important to you, you use guilt trips and taunts to manipulate her into doing what you want.

You are a fucking horrible person, Eragon.

Frankly, if the dragon – the flying, scaly beast that could easily bite or claw a man to death – is afraid of the Strangers In Black (SIB for short), that should be a clue that these guys are Bad News.  I, personally, wouldn’t be going back to the farm without first seeking help.  Of course, that would mean exposing yourself to the villagers; more importantly, it wouldn’t be the “heroic” thing to do, because in this book being the hero means rushing headlong into danger without stopping to think for five seconds about your plan of action.  It would also mean acknowledging the fact that the feelings and opinions of others matter just as much as your own, and we can’t have that.  It’s just not manly.  It’s not what heroes do.

Of course Saphira gets angry enough to grudgingly agree to go back, but not before telling Eragon that he’s being an idiot.

A growl rippled in her throat as her head jabbed within a few inches of his face.  She bared her fangs and glared at him, smoke trailing from her nostrils.  He hoped that he had not gone too far.  Blood will meet blood.  I will fight.  Our wyrds – our fates – bind us, but try me not.  I will take you because of debt owed, but into foolishness we fly.

Yeah, you tell him Saphira! You may turn into just as much of an asshole as Eragon later on, but I’m going to enjoy what I can from you.

By the time they reach the farm, it’s too late; there’s a column of smoke rising from the buildings, and it’s obvious that the SIB have already been here.

The house had been blasted apart.  Timbers and boards that had been walls and roof were strewn across a wide area.  The wood was pulverized, as if a giant hammer had smashed it.  Sooty shingles lay everywhere.  A few twisted metal plates were all that remained of the stove.  The snow was perforated with smashed white crockery and chunks of bricks from the chimney.  Thick, oily smoke billowed from the barn, which burned fiercely.  The farm animals were gone, either killed or frightened away.

It appears that the SIB were here fairly recently, which makes me wonder why they waited to come after Eragon.  They saw him in town; they knew who they wanted.  It can’t be more than a couple hours’ walk from town to the farm, less if they’ve got mounts.  One would think that they would want to attack the farm under the cover of darkness, but it’s early afternoon when Eragon gets home.  Did it take them until this morning to find out where he lives?

“Uncle!”  Eragon ran to the wreckage, hunting through the destroyed rooms for Garrow. “Uncle!” Eragon cried again.  Saphira walked around the house and came to his side.

Sorrow breeds here, she said.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t run away with me!”

You wouldn’t be alive if we had stayed.

“Look at this!” he screamed.  “We could’ve warned Garrow!  It’s your fault he didn’t get away!”

Again, Paolini surprises me with this scene.  I’ve remarked before on how a lot of his scenes seem to be gleaned from common cliches in pop culture, and this has the potential to be just as overdone… but it works.  It’s a very human reaction, especially in the face of Saphira’s instinct to get as far away as possible.

He stumbled to the path that led to the road and bent down to examine the snow.  Several tracks were before him, but his vision was blurry and he could barely see.  Am I going blind? he wondered.  With a shaking hand, he touched his cheeks and found them wet.

I wonder if Eragon is somehow related to Bella Swan.  There’s no other way to explain how he could possibly confuse crying with going blind.

Saphira points out that there are only two sets of prints leading to and from the house, meaning that Garrow must still be here.  They search the house, and Eragon eventually finds his uncle in the kitchen.  Together he and Saphira manage to pull Garrow out from under the rubble.

Eragon dragged Garrow out of the destroyed house and eased him to the ground.  Dismayed, he touched his uncle gently.  His skin was gray, lifeless, and dry, as if a fever had burned off any sweat.  His lip was split, and there was a long scrape on his cheekbone, but that was not the worst.  Deep, ragged burns covered most of his body.  They were chalky white and oozed clear liquid.  A cloying, sickening smell hung over him – the odor of rotting fruit.  His breath came in short jerks, each one sounding like a death rattle.

Murderers, hissed Saphira.

Garrow’s still alive, so Eragon rushes to create a sort of platform to lay him on, which Saphira will then carry beneath her while she’s flying.  She almost isn’t able to take off because of the extra weight, but she manages to get into the air and almost makes it to town before she has to land.  Eragon decides to drag Garrow the rest of the way.

He gritted his teeth and began to drag Garrow down the road.  He first few steps sent an explosion of agony through him.  “I can’t do this!” he howled at the sky, then took a few more steps.  His mouth locked into a snarl.  He stared at the ground between his feet as he forced himself to hold a steady pace.  It was a fight against his unruly body – a fight he refused to lose.

Strangely, Eragon didn’t seem to have any trouble with his injuries back at the farm.  His legs were mentioned on the return flight as bleeding from the friction, even with the addition of padding, but once he touched ground Eragon was running around, tossing rubble about, and dragging Garrow around.  I’ll admit, it’s possible that adrenaline could explain this, and this would be the point where the adrenaline wears off.  It just doesn’t sit right with me.

With desperation he wondered if Carvahall still existed or if the strangers had burnt it down, too.

That’s a good question.  Considering the villagers’ reluctance to tell the SIB anything about Eragon, Carvahall could be seen as harboring him.  That would probably be more than enough justification for these guys to raze the village to the ground.

Our chapter ends with a wild-eyed Brom grabbing Eragon, right before the kid faints.  That makes the four chapters out of eleven, so far, ending on Eragon either falling asleep or losing consciousness.  There’s got to be another way to end a chapter.

Eragon: Chapter 10

Eragon, Chapter 10: Flight of Destiny

Now that the plot has caught up to him, Eragon runs home to tell Garrow about Saphira.  The fact that he should have told him months ago, when the egg first hatched, never crosses his mind.  Why tell your family about the possible danger when they can take steps to prevent it when you can wait until the last possible minute and practically guarantee that someone you love will be killed?  He decides he should go get Saphira before coming clean to his uncle, so he’ll have proof and so he won’t sound like he slipped a hit his head on a rock.

He touched her shoulder and closed his eyes.  Calming his mind, he quickly told her what had occurred.  When he mentioned the strangers, Saphira recoiled.  She reared and roared deafeningly, then whipped her tail over his head.  He scrambled back in surprise, ducking as her tail hit a snowdrift.  Bloodlust and fear emanated from her in great sickening waves.  Fire!  Enemies!  Death!  Murderers!

What’s wrong?  He put all of his strength into the words, but an iron wall surrounded her mind, shielding her thoughts.  She let out another roar and gouged the earth with her claws, tearing the frozen ground.  Stop it!  Garrow will hear!

Oaths betrayed, souls killed, eggs shattered!  Blood everywhere.  Murderers!

If you’re planning on telling him about the dragon, then I don’t think it matters if he hears her roaring a few minutes beforehand.

Do dragons in this universe have some sort of ancestral knowledge that they all draw from?  This seems like an instinctual reaction to a natural enemy, but I can’t see how Saphira could know all the “egg shatters, oath betrayers, murderers” stuff she’s screaming about unless dragons have some sort of ancestral knowledge that they can tap into at any time.

Eragon tries to calm Saphira down by climbing on her back and petting her.  I know when I’m faced with an enraged creature capable of killing me in several different ways, my first thought is to get within mauling distance.  Anyway, this plan backfires as Saphira blocks him out of her mind and launches into the air, with Eragon clinging to her for dear life.  It’s not a good first time, as far as flights go; Eragon pukes over the side and, despite the descriptions of the landscape below, spends more time trying to communicate to an unresponsive Saphira than he does taking in the view.  As night falls, Saphira finally lands and lets Eragon off.

As he struck the ground, his knees buckled, and his cheek slammed against the snow.  He gasped as excruciating pain seared through his legs, sending tears to his eyes.  His muscles, cramped from clenching for so long, shook violently.  He rolled onto his back, shivering, and stretched his limbs as best he could.  Then he forced himself to look down.  Two large blots darkened his wool pants on the insides of his thighs.  He touched the fabric.  It was wet.  Alarmed, he peeled off the pants and grimaced.  The insides of his legs were raw and bloody.  The skin was gone, rubbed off by Saphira’s hard scales.  He gingerly felt the abrasions and winced.  Cold bit into him as he pulled the pants back on, and he cried out as they scraped against the sensitive wounds.  He tried to stand, but his legs would not support him.

Maybe I’m just being pedantic, but I’m bothered by Eragon’s injuries.  I can overlook Eragon not noticing the wounds until now, considering the circumstances under which he obtained said wounds, but if Saphira has particularly rough or sharp scales, then his pants should be ripped to shreds, not just soaked in blood.  His pants could have caused enough friction to rub his thighs bloody, but then he would have had to be constantly moving to cause that much injury to himself.

This is also the first mention of Eragon being cold, which just strikes me as ignorant.  It’s the middle of winter, and Eragon was flying through the air, at an altitude high enough to overlook the mountain range he lives near.  There is mention of high winds, but none of the chilling effect said winds would have on an unprepared Rider.  We can assume Eragon is dressed for winter (and that will have to be an assumption, since we never get any clear descriptions of the kind of clothes Eragon wears aside from the previously-mentioned pants), but that doesn’t mean it will protect him from the kind of temperatures and wind chill he would experience while flying.  Just one more example of the author not stopping to think about what certain actions mean for his main character.

He [Eragon] turned his head and saw her [Saphira] next to him, crouched low to the ground.  He put a hand on her side and found it trembling.  The barrier in her mind was gone.  Without it, her fear scorched through him.  He clamped down on it and slowly soothed her with gentle images.  Why do the strangers frighten you?

Murderers, she hissed.

Garrow is in danger and you kidnap me on this ridiculous journey!  Are you unable to protect me?  She growled deeply and snapped her jaws.  Ah, but if you think you can, why run?

Eragon is such an asshole.

This, right here, is the root of my problem with Eragon.  Saphira is clearly freaked out, and he berates and taunts her for it.  This is a creature he is psychically bonded to, whose pain and fear he can feel as clearly as he feels his own emotions, and his reaction is to yell at her for acting on instinct instead of being convenient and doing what he wants her to do.  For all his earlier introspection, Eragon still doesn’t see her as a person.  Saphira is something to be controlled; when she resists that control, he uses her loyalty to him against her to try and shame her into following his orders.  This is particularly obvious next chapter, when Eragon’s argument for returning to the farm is “You owe me, and I owe Garrow, therefore you owe Garrow”.  This does not paint the relationship between Rider and dragon as a particularly healthy one.  Eragon and Saphira read more like human and pet than equal partners.

(I also can’t help but notice the unfortunate gender stereotype here, where the woman is irrational and acts on emotions.  However, that’s something I will address in future posts; right now it’s just an observation.)

Since he’s not getting any answers out of her, Eragon changes tactics and tells Saphira that he’ll need some shelter if he’s going to survive the night.  She agrees, and they curl up together to sleep.

He pulled his arms inside his coat and tied the empty sleeves around his neck.  For the first time he noticed that hunger gnawed at his stomach.  But it did not distract him from his main worry.  Could he get back to the farm before the strangers did?  And if not, what would happen?  Even if I can force myself to ride Saphira again, it’ll be at least midafternoon before we get back.  The strangers could be there long before that.  He closed his eyes and felt a single tear slide down his face.  What have I done?

That’s right, Paolini ends the chapter with Eragon crying a single emo tear.

Memorable Quotes:

“Death is a poison.” (pg. 73)  This is Saphira’s answer to Eragon asking her why she ran.  I have no idea what the hell it’s supposed to mean.

“He [Eragon] eyed the exposed dirt with distaste.” (pg. 73)

Eragon: Chapter 9

Eragon, Chapter 9: Strangers in Carvahall

The day that Roran leaves for Therinsford has finally arrived!  Predictably, Garrow falls into the “absent YA-lit parent figure” category by refusing to accompany his son to town to see him off.

When pressed for a reason, he only said that it was for the best.

“For the best” apparently meaning “because the plot says so”.  Garrow does come off as the sort of person who would prefer to avoid long goodbyes, if only because he would feel uncomfortable expressing emotions other than manly manly pride.  But, really, what seems more likely: that Paolini was trying to add to Garrow’s characterization, or that he was trying to get Garrow out of the way as soon as possible?

Garrow gives Roran some money and his blessing, then addresses both boys:

He turned and said in a louder voice, “Do not think that I have forgotten you, Eragon.  I have words for both of you.  It’s time I said them, as you are entering the world.  Heed them and they will serve you well.”  He bent his gaze sternly on them.  “First, let no one rule your mind or body.  Take special care that your thoughts remain unfettered.  One may be a free man and yet be bound tighter than a slave.  Give men your ear, but not your heart.  Show respect for those in power, but don’t follow them blindly.  Judge with logic and reason, but comment not.

“Consider none your superior, whatever their rank or station in life.  Treat all fairly or they will seek revenge.  Be careful with your money.  Hold fast to your beliefs and others will listen.”  He continued at a slower pace, “Of the affairs of love . . . my only advice is to be honest.  That’s your most powerful tool to unlock a heart or gain forgiveness.  That is all I have to say.”  He seemed slightly self-conscious of his speech.

Well, it’s no “With great power comes great responsibility”, that’s for sure.

What is Garrow even trying to say, anyway?  I mean, I get some of it: think for yourself, don’t run your mouth off, keep track of your money… but what does he mean by “take special care that your thoughts remain unfettered”?  Are there roving bands of psychics that enslave people on a regular basis?  Is he trying (and failing, I might add) to add to the “think for yourself” rule?  This really just comes across as Paolini scribbling down some generic “fatherly” advice.  Granted, it does serve to characterize Garrow a bit – he seems like the type of person who would feel like he had to give his kids some good advice, and reach for the first thing he could think of – but he’s definitely no Ben Parker.

Also, have I mentioned yet that I hate the dialogue in this book?  Because I do.  Paolini not only has a tin ear for dialogue, he also falls into the common fantasy trap of assuming that, because the story is set in a Middle Ages stand-in, everyone is going to talk like they fell out of that vague, undefined period of time where we all assume they spoke Elizabethan English, from the most haughty noble to the humblest fishmonger.  Granted, people did speak differently in the past, but that didn’t mean they all spoke in the same way across the board.

Garrow finally shuts up and sends the boys on their way.  They head to the mill where Horst and Roran’s new boss are waiting.  While Roran is getting ready to leave, Horst pulls Eragon aside and asks about the stone.

“As soon as you return home, get rid of it.”  Horst overrode Eragon’s exclamation.  “Two men arrived here yesterday.  Strange fellows dressed in black and carrying swords.  It made my skin crawl just to look at them.  Last evening they started asking people if a stone like yours had been found.  They’re at it again today.”  Eragon blanched.  “No one with sense said anything.  They know trouble when they see it, but I could name a few people who will talk.”

Are those last two lines implying what I think they’re implying?  Does everyone know about the stone?  I mean, I knew Eragon was stupid for not being more careful about showing it to people, but I didn’t think the entire fucking town knew about the damn thing!  Either he was not nearly as stealthy as he thought, or Sloan just had to tell everyone what Eragon was carrying around for whatever reason.  It’s cool, it’s not like this has to make sense or anything.  We wouldn’t want the reader to feel spoiled by being able to follow the story.

Horst warns Eragon to go home and avoid the strangers.  It’s good advice, though it’s wasted on this kid.  Eragon says a hasty goodbye to Roran, starts walking back toward home until Horst can’t see him anymore, then doubles back to look for these strangers in black.  The smart thing to do, of course, would be to listen to the guy who just told you to go home and avoid said strangers, but our hero never lets little things like common sense get in the way of his adventures.

He prowled across Carvahall, avoiding everyone until he heard a sibilant voice from around a house.  Although his ears were keen, he had to strain to hear what was being said.

“When did this happen?”  The words were smooth, like oiled glass, and seemed to worm their way through the air.  Underlying the speech was a strange hiss that made his scalp prickle.

“About three months ago,” someone else answered.  Eragon identified him as Sloan.

Shade’s blood, he’s telling them. . . .He resolved to punch Sloan the next time they met.

Holy disproportionate response, Batman!  I know Sloan’s a jerk, but he can’t possibly know why the stone is so important, and frankly he owes Eragon absolutely nothing.  Punching a guy for unknowingly giving the enemy information is downright excessive.

The strangers let Sloan go, and Eragon peeks out to see what’s going on.  They catch sight of him (what happened to the mighty hunter stalking deer through the forest, eh?) and Eragon is frozen in place.  Just as they’re closing in, hands on their swords, Brom barges in shouting Eragon’s name.  This is, apparently, enough to make the strangers give up for now, as they leave without a word.  Brom tells Eragon he should go home and offers to walk him to the edge of town.  He asks Eragon if he remembers the name of the trader (the one who supposedly told him so much about dragons), and Eragon spaces out and clues Brom in to the fact that he was lying.  Good job, kid.  You’re the best at keeping secrets.

They walked in silence to the road, then Brom […] offered a gnarled hand.

Eragon shook it, but as he let go something in Brom’s hand caught on his mitt and pulled it off.  It fell to the ground.  The old man picked it up.  “Clumsy of me,” he apologized, and handed it back.  As Eragon took the mitt, Brom’s strong fingers wrapped around his wrist and twisted sharply.  His palm briefly faced upward, revealing the silvery mark.  Brom’s eyes glinted, but he let Eragon yank his hand back and jam it into the mitt.

So now Brom knows Eragon is a Rider.  And instead of warning him just how dangerous these guys in black lurking around town are, he lets the kid run back home without saying a word.  Because he’s just that good of a mentor.  I’m so glad he’ll be around for half the book, aren’t you?

Eragon: Chapter 8

Eragon, Chapter 8: A Miller-to-Be

So, against Eragon’s advice, Roran tells his father over dinner that he’s taking the job at the miller’s.

“I see,” was Garrow’s only comment.  He fell silent and stared at the ceiling.  No one moved as they awaited his response.  “Well, when do you leave?”

“What?” asked Roran.

Garrow leaned forward with a twinkle in his eye.  “Did you think I would stop you?  I’d hoped you would marry soon.  It will be good to see this family growing again.  Katrina will be lucky to have you.”  […]  “So when do you leave?” Garrow asked.  […]  “Good.  That will give us time to prepare.  It’ll be different to have the house to ourselves.  But if nothing else goes amiss, it shouldn’t be for too long.”  He looked over the table and asked, “Eragon, did you know of this?”

He shrugged ruefully.  “Not until today. . . . It’s madness.”

Garrow ran a hand over his face.  “It’s life’s natural course.”  He pushed himself up from the chair.  “All will be fine; time will settle everything.  For now, though, let’s clean the dishes.”

Question: are we supposed to read this as Garrow playing favorites?

If you remember, back in Chapter 2 Garrow was upset that Eragon promised to pay Horst back by working for him in the spring.  Naturally, one might assume that Garrow would be equally unhappy with the idea of Roran leaving, especially considering Eragon’s concerns in the last chapter.  And yet, Garrow is happy to let his son go off and leave the farm to him and his nephew.

Now, one could reasonably assume that Garrow is only so willing because Roran’s ultimate intent is to get married.  However, Roran said last chapter that he wanted to wait to marry Katrina until he was able to raise a house – so even after he marries, he’ll be gone.  Sure, he might help out around the farm at first, but eventually he’ll have to tend to the needs of his family.  Even if he comes home for a time before marrying, Roran will be leaving permanently. If Eragon tried to leave after that – if he met a girl he wanted to marry, or if he decided he wanted to find out what happened to his mother, for instance – would he be granted the same freedom?  Would Garrow just let him go, knowing that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to run the farm by himself, and that eventually he would have to move in with his son’s family or, horror of horrors, finally rely on his neighbors?

It’s never described as favoritism, and Eragon is only worried about the fact that his cousin is leaving, but we all know that authorial intent doesn’t count for squat.

The next few days were trying.  Eragon’s temper was frayed.  Except for curtly answering direct questions, he spoke with no one.  There were small reminders everywhere that Roran was leaving: Garrow making him a pack, things missing from the walls, and a strange emptiness that filled the house.  It was almost a week before he realized that distance had grown between Roran and him.  When they spoke, the words did not come easily and their conversations were uncomfortable.

I know I made a big deal last chapter about how Eragon’s reaction to Roran leaving was perfectly natural, and I stand by that assertion … but I don’t see why he’s so upset.  We’re constantly told how close these two are, but the only interactions they’ve had so far consisted of Roran yelling at Eragon for telling someone about his relationship with Katrina, Roran complaining about Sloan, and Roran telling Eragon that he’s taking the miller job.  We don’t see Eragon and Roran doing anything together outside of those three interactions; we don’t ever see how the relationship between them works.

Eragon spends most of his time venting to Saphira.  With all the complaining he does, I think he may have mistaken her for his LiveJournal.

Saphira was as real and complex as any person.  Her personality was eclectic and at times completely alien, yet they understood each other on a profound level.

What a perfect cop-out for any inexplicable or unrealistic behavior: it’s her alien personality (that I never described because if I detailed exactly how “alien” she is, I might have to stick to my own rules instead of using the character as the plot demands).

The night before Roran was to leave, Eragon went to talk with him.  He stalked down the hallway to Roran’s open door.  An oil lamp restod on a nightstand, painting the walls with warm flickering light.  The bedposts cast elongated shadows on empty shelves that rose to the ceiling.  Roran – his eyes shaded and the back of his neck tense – was rolling blankets around his clothes and belongings.  He paused, then picked up something from the pillow and bounced it in his hand.  It was a polished rock Eragon had given him years ago.  Roran started to tuck it into the bundle, then stopped and set it on a shelf.  A hard lump formed in Eragon’s throat, and he left.

This scene might actually be … well, I hesitate to say moving, but it would at least make me feel a little bit bad for Eragon if it weren’t so flat.  It might also help if Paolini stopped writing scenes that sound like they could have been lifted from soap operas.

Memorable Quotes: None.  This chapter was too short to offer up anything decent.

Eragon: Chapter 7

Eragon, Chapter 7: A Name of Power

(I’m changing the update schedule, folks.  Don’t worry, this means more Eragon goodness for all of you!  There are so many short chapters that I shouldn’t have too much trouble getting a review out on Wednesdays as well.  And if I slack off… well, at least one of my readers knows where I live, so maybe if you ask nicely he’ll harass me into posting on time.  Maybe.)

Roran surprises Eragon on the way home by announcing that the miller from Therinsford offered him a job.  Eragon isn’t too happy about this, especially not after he finds out why Roran wants to take the position:

Roran’s shoulders straightened slightly.  “I want to marry.”

Bewilderment and astonishment overwhelmed Eragon.  He remembered seeing Katrina and Roran kissing during the traders’ visit, but marriage?  “Katrina?” he asked weakly, just to confirm.  Roran nodded.  “Have you asked her?”

“Not yet, but come spring, when I can raise a house, I will.”

My initial reaction was to say that this really shouldn’t come as a surprise.  We’re not told how long Roran and Katrina have been courting, but they certainly seem to be serious, and they can’t be the only young couple Eragon’s seen.  He’s got to know that courting eventually leads to marriage, if not from specifically being taught so then from observing how the people around him interact.  So coming from a knowledge standpoint, he really shouldn’t be so taken aback by Roran’s statement that he wants to marry his girlfriend.

On the other hand, this actually comes across as a realistic human reaction.  Sure, Eragon knows that eventually his cousin will get married and settle down, just like someday he’ll do the same thing – but that’s in the future.  Right now he’s focused on the dragon, and this is coming out of nowhere.  His life has already changed drastically, and now it’s going to change even more – why wouldn’t he be upset?

The boys get home and Eragon immediately goes to the dragon, who is now capable of saying at least one more word (“yes”, if anyone’s curious).

Roran’s announcement had put him in a foul mood.  A questioning thought came from the dragon, so he told it what had happened.  As he talked his voice grew steadily louder until he was yelling pointlessly into the air.  He ranted until his emotions were spent, then ineffectually punched the ground.

“I don’t want him to go, that’s all,” he said helplessly.

This is the first in a long, long line of instances where Eragon simply tells.  There is no dialogue, just narration telling us that Eragon told something to someone.  And it’s one of my biggest pet peeves in this book.

I can understand the desire to skip over a scene where one character tells another something that the audience already knows.  Unless the work is particularly long or complicated, the audience likely already knows what happened and won’t appreciate the refresher.  When there’s not a lot to tell, however – when what happened is important, but not overly long or complicated to tell – then I think it should be detailed.  This is the perfect time not only to give Eragon some character development, but to develop the relationship between him and his cousin (especially since we are told, never shown, that Roran and Eragon are close).  How does Eragon describe what happened?  Does he whisper or yell at certain spots?  Does he have trouble saying things or blurt it out?  Is he matter-of-fact or does he hedge around the issue?  Does his anger affect his speech?

How much does he have to say, anyway?  What happened can be boiled down to “My cousin told me he was going to take a job in the next village.  He said he needs the money because he wants to get married.”  If you match that up with the narration, that means that Eragon quickly devolves into yelling and punching things.  That says a lot more about his temper than if he goes into a longer rant about how he feels before finally resorting to yelling and violence.  We could learn so much about Eragon from this one scene, if only Paolini would have taken the time to write it out. (I have the urge to write corrective fanfiction now.  Thanks, Paolini.)

Alas, it’s about feelings and not part of the super awesome Star Wars/DRoP mash-up, so it’s not worth developing.  Pity.

Eragon changes the subject by suggesting some of the names that Brom gave him.  It shoots them down.

It seemed to be laughing at something Eragon did not understand, but he ignored it and kept suggesting names.  “There was Ingothold, he slew the . . .”  A revelation stopped him.  That’s the problem!  I’ve been choosing male names!  You are a she!

Don’t tell me you never bothered to check what sex the dragon was, Eragon.  Granted, I’m sure it would be difficult, if not impossible, to tell, considering that he’s never seen a dragon before in his life, but did you even try?  Of course not.  How the dragon is supposed to know the difference between male and female names when she hasn’t been socialized to learn otherwise is anyone’s guess at this point.

Now that he knew what to look for, he came up with half a dozen names.  He toyed with Miramel, but that did not fit – after all, it was the name of a brown dragon.

Again, how does he know this?  Did Brom give him the corresponding colors with all those names?  Why does it matter what color the dragon was anyway?  Do you have something against the color brown, Eragon?

Eragon remembers the name Brom muttered at the end and suggests Saphira.  The dragon loves it (like there was ever any doubt), and the chapter ends with a happy Saphira humming to herself.

Memorable Quotes:

“Eragon’s heart was disturbed.  It would take time before he could look upon this development with favor.” (pg. 57)

“Impulsively, he broke a dead branch with his foot.” (pg. 58)

Eragon: Chapter 6

Eragon, Chapter 6: Tea for Two

This chapter is nothing but exposition.  Not only that, it’s the second-worst kind of exposition (the worst being Dan Brown-esque info dumps in the middle of the narration): characters sitting around talking about things.

Now, all parallels between Eragon and Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, Dragonriders of Pern, and anything else aside, it’s obvious that Paolini went to a great deal of effort to come up with an original fantasy setting.  (Whether he succeeded or not is a post for another day, and likely for someone who knows more about the fantasy genre than I do.)  The problem here is that Paolini doesn’t want to slowly introduce us to his world; he wants to give us as much information as possible, regardless of whether it’s pertinent to the story or not.  And of course it comes to us through Brom’s history lessons.  Hell, I love learning about history, but I remember being bored stiff in class and having to go seek out information on my own to actually become interested in it.  Making the reader sit through what is essentially a school lesson is not a good way to keep said reader interested.

Behind him Brom leaned on a twisted staff embellished with strange carvings.  He wore a brown hooded robe like a friar.  A pouch hung from the scuffed leather belt clasped around his waist.  Above his white beard, a proud eagle nose hooked over his mouth and dominated his face.  He peered at Eragon with deep-set eyes shadowed by a gnarled brow and waited for his reply.

Gee, sound like any other wise old man from pop culture?

This isn’t the mentor you’re looking for.

Eragon is surprisingly straightforward about what he wants: information.  Granted, he doesn’t come out and say “I hatched a dragon and I need to know everything about them, stat!”, but you would think he’d at least try to be a little less obvious about it.  Brom just mutters about Eragon and his never-ending questions and lets him in.

Brom putzes about for a bit with his pipe, and finally gets around to talking about dragons and the Riders.  He says there’s too much to tell in one sitting, but he’ll give Eragon the basics, focusing on “how the Riders began, why they were to highly regarded, and where dragons came from”.

“Dragons have no beginning, unless it lies with the creation of Alagaësia itself.  And if they have an end, it will be when this world perishes, for they suffer as the land does.  They, the dwarves, and a few others are the true inhabitants of this land.  They have lived here before all others, strong and proud in their elemental glory.  Their world was unchanging until the first elves sailed over the sea on their silver ships.

I’m curious what Brom means by “true inhabitants”.  Does he mean that dragons and dwarves were the first inhabitants, much like the aboriginal peoples of North America or Australia?  Or does he mean that their connection to the land, which seems to be magical, makes them the “true inhabitants”?  What does that entail, anyway?  Do they have more of a right to live in Alagaësia than elves or humans?  Can they bend the land to their will, influence it as they are influenced by it?   Did Paolini make this word choice because he wanted us to think, or because it sounded deep and mystical?

I have to admit, I did like this exchange:

“Where did the elves come from?” interrupted Eragon.  “And why are they called the fair folk?  Do they really exist?”

Brom scowled.  “Do you want your original questions answered or not?  They won’t be if you want to explore every obscure piece of knowledge.”

“Sorry,” said Eragon.  he dipped his head and tried to look contrite.

“No, you’re not,” said Brom with some amusement.

It’s rare, but there are little moments like this where the characters seem to interact like actual people and not pieces in a game of Advance the Plot.  I like those moments.

The elves, suffering from an acute case of Superior Species Syndrome, viewed the dragons as little more than animals and managed to start a war between the two species when one elf decided he wanted to make some dragon stew.  Long story short, this sparked a war that lasted about five years until an elf named Eragon found himself a dragon egg.

“Yes,” said Eragon absently.  It seemed like an incredible coincidence that he had been named after the first Rider.

Incredible coincidence my ass.

No, of course this doesn’t make him even more of an idealized self-insert.  What do you think this is, a poorly-disguised piece of fanfiction with an author avatar as the main character?  Surely you jest!

Eragon-the-elf raised the dragon in secret, then traveled around with him to help convince both sides to stop fighting.  With the war ended, the Riders were formed to keep it from happening again.  Eventually they ended up with “more power than all the kings in Alagaësia” before Galbatorix came along.

Now that two of his questions are answered, Eragon-the-human stops to ask what the humans were doing while all this history was going on:

Brom laughed.  “We are no more native to this land than the elves.  It took our ancestors another three centuries to arrive here and join the Riders.”

“That can’t be,” protested Eragon.  “We’ve always lived in Palancar Valley.”

“That might be true for a few generations, but beyond that, no.  It isn’t even true for you, Eragon,” said Brom gently.  “Though you consider yourself part of Garrow’s family, and rightly so, your sire was not from here.  Ask around and you’ll find many people who haven’t been here that long.  This valley is old and hasn’t always belonged to us.”

Eragon scowled and gulped at the tea. […]  This was his home, regardless of who his father was!

Brom isn’t saying that this isn’t your home, Eragon; he’s saying that people haven’t been here as long as you think they have.  And while he’s right – humans have not been in Alagaësia for very long in comparison to the other races living there – his logic is all wrong.  He’s thinking too small.  Carvahall is pretty far removed from the rest of the empire, and it’s not unreasonable to assume that it might be newer than other settlements.  Maybe it’s an offshoot of Therinsford (the nearest village), or a former hunting camp that eventually turned into a town.  It would better prove Brom’s point if he talked about the cities, maybe telling Eragon how old the oldest one is and then saying that it’s a drop in the bucket compared to how long the dwarves and dragons and even elves have been around.

Eragon asks some more questions – what happened to the dwarves (they sealed themselves underground), how many dragons are left (not nearly enough, and if they’re not allied to Galbatorix they’re in hiding), how big did they get (fuck-off huge), how long did it take them to mature (five to six months, which is when they could breathe fire and mate) – and then slips up:

“I heard that their scales shone like gems.”

Brom leaned forward and growled, “You heard right.  They came in every color and shade.  It was said that a group of them looked like a living rainbow, constantly shifting and shimmering.  But who told you that?”

Eragon froze for a second, then lied, “A trader.”

“What was his name?” asked Brom. […]

Eragon pretended to think.  “I don’t know.  He was talking in Morn’s, but I never found out who he was.  […]  He also said a Rider could hear his dragon’s thoughts,” said Eragon quickly, hoping that the fictitious trader would protect him from suspicion.

Brom’s eyes narrowed.  Slowly he took out a tinderbox and struck the flint.  Smoke rose, and he took a long pull from the pope, exhaling slowly.  In a flat voice he said, “He was wrong.  It isn’t in any of the stories, and I know them all.  Did he say anything else?”

Eragon shrugged.  “No.”  Brom was too interested in the trader for him to continue the falsehood.  Casually he inquired, “Did dragons live very long?”

Oh, Eragon, you are really, really bad at being deceptive.  Brom already doesn’t quite buy your story about the trader, so quit while you’re ahead or you’re going to blow your cover.

Brom answers Eragon’s question by telling him that a dragon can live forever “as long as it isn’t killed and its Rider doesn’t die”.  The dragon’s magical properties lengthen the life of the Rider, as well as enhancing the Rider’s mental and physical attributes, and human Riders will eventually grow pointed ears like an elf.  I… guess this sort of makes sense, since the first Riders were elves, but does that happen with any other race?  Were there any other races that were Riders?

After asking everything he thinks he can get away with, Eragon finally gets around to the other reason he sought out Brom: what kind of names the dragons had.  He tells Brom that he’s trying to remember the name of one particular dragon and asks for his help.

Brom shrugged and quickly listed a stream of names.  “There was Jura, Hírador, and Fundor – who fought the giant sea snake.  Galzra, Briam, Ohen the Strong, Gretiem, Beroan, Roslarb . . .”  He added many other.  At the very end, he uttered so softly Eragon almost did not hear, “. . . and Saphira.”

Gee, I wonder which name Eragon will choose.  Could it possibly be the one singled out at the end as something special to Brom?  Who knows!  (Also, is it just me or do the rest of those names look like Paolini just mashed his elbows on the keyboard a few times?)

Eragon finally has everything he needs, so he takes off to go find Roran, and the chapter ends there.  And not a moment too soon, either.

No Memorable Quotes today, folks.  Sometimes Paolini has some real zingers, but nothing really stood out in this chapter.  Let’s hope for more next time!