Eragon: Chapter 32

Eragon, Chapter 32: The Mire of Dras-Leona

Brom and Eragon are trying not to draw attention to themselves. It’s especially important after their latest encounter with Urgals. So why is it that neither of them seem to understand the importance of staying out of sight?

They lunched at Fasaloft, a bustling lakeside village. […] As they ate in the hostel’s common room, Eragon listened intently to the gossip and was relieved to hear no rumors of him and Saphira.

Now more than ever, it’s vitally important that the party not catch the attention of the wrong people and bring the wrath of Galbatorix or the Ra’zac down on their heads. They should be avoiding towns and villages unless absolutely necessary. Taking a leisurely lunch at a “charming” village next to the lake is not necessary.

Morons.

After a few days’ more travel, our heroes reach Dras-Leona. Eragon is getting pretty excited about the chance to exact some revenge, but Saphira warns him that the Ra’zac may very well have spies looking for them. (Something she probably should have mentioned at their little luncheon, but whatever.)

We’ll do our best to remain inconspicuous, he told her.

Oh yes, you’ve been doing a real bang-up job of that so far.

Saphira tells him to follow Brom’s lead and be careful, then asks what he plans to do once the Ra’zac are dead; Brom will want to take him to the Varden, and Galbatorix isn’t going to be happy when he finds out who killed his servants.

Eragon rubbed his arms. I don’t want to fight the Empire all the time like the Varden do. Life is more than constant war. There’ll be time to consider it once the Ra’zac are gone.

Considering you’ve spent the last few months on a quest for revenge, I don’t think you have any room to talk.

As they pass into Dras-Leona, Brom points out a mountain east of the city called Helgrind, saying that it’s “unhealthy and malevolent”. When Eragon asks about a cathedral that resembles the mountain, Brom tells him:

“Their prayers go to Helgrind. It’s a cruel religion they practice. They drink human blood and make flesh offerings. Their priests often lack body parts because they believe that the more bone and sinew you give up, the less you’re attached to the mortal world. They spend much of their time arguing about which of Helgrind’s three peaks is the highest and most important and whether the fourth – and lowest – should be included in their worship.”

“That’s horrible,” said Eragon, shuddering.

“Yes,” said Brom grimly, “but don’t say that to a believer. You’ll quickly lose a hand in ‘penance.'”

Don’t tease us with the possibility of something interesting happening, Brom.

This religion would be a lot more interesting if Galbatorix either practiced it, or promoted it as a way of keeping the populace in line. A state-sponsored religion that practices human sacrifice and preys upon the lower class is much more effective at portraying a totalitarian dictatorship than vague implications of “oppression” that somehow include a complete lack of army presence (aside from the Ra’zac, the only servants of the empire we’ve seen were the two grain traders back in Chapter 3) and random monster attacks. It would also be more interesting if, instead of being a generic evil religion that kills people, the focus was more on self-sacrifice taken to the level of offering up your own body parts as tribute – like self-flagellation turned up to eleven.

A group of ragged children ran between the houses, fighting over scraps of bread. Deformed beggars crouched next to the entrance gates, pleading for money. Their cries for help were like a chorus of the damned. We don’t even treat animals like this, thought Eragon, eyes wide with anger. “I won’t stay here,” he said, rebelling against the sight.

Has this kid never heard of poverty? Has he never gone through a tough winter where they didn’t have enough food? Did he only stay in the rich areas of Tierm? Does Carvahall have an extensive social services network that ensures every child is fed, every beggar provided for? Is Eragon really so sheltered that the sight of children fighting over scraps incenses him more than the religion that drinks human blood?

This is like that stupid scene with the slaughtered villagers back in Chapter 18, meant to show Eragon realizing that the world is cruel and unjust. It’s not quite as bad (nothing can top that baby stuck on a pike), but it’s just as schlock-y and forced. I almost want to say that Paolini was going for an allusion to Siddhartha leaving his palace and encountering a poor man, a sick man, and a dead man, but I can’t give him nearly that much credit.

Brom convinces Eragon that “it gets better farther in” (where they can ignore the poor people, I guess?) and they find an inn for the night, then proceed to get drunk.

The inn’s food was barely adequate, but its beer was excellent. By the time they stumbled back to the room, Eragon’s head was buzzing pleasantly. He unrolled his blankets on the floor and slid under them as Brom tumbled onto the bed.

[…]

You’ve been drinking, came the accusing thought. […] Her disapproval was clear, but all she said was, I won’t envy you in the morning.

Hey, we haven’t had Saphira play out a stereotype in a few pages! Let’s end the chapter with her scolding Eragon for drinking. Women nagging men for drinking is comedy gold, right guys?

Eragon: Chapter 31

Eragon, Chapter 31: Master of the Blade

Eragon waits until the next day, when Brom is in a better mood, to tell him about the vision he had. I can’t say I blame him. And for once, Brom doesn’t yell at him for doing something on his own. He has no idea who the woman might be, however, or how Eragon managed to scry her through a dream, but he doesn’t seem overly concerned about it.

“Did you see her face?” asked Brom intently.

“Not very clearly. The lighting was bad, yet I could tell that she was beautiful.”

Would you stop mentioning how beautiful this woman is? Not only is it bad writing to constantly tell us this character is pretty, it’s also (a) pretty sexist when all you focus on is her appearance, and (b) irrelevant to the conversation. Brom’s looking for identifying characteristics, and “beautiful” is far too vague to help him pinpoint the woman’s identity.

“Perhaps to understand this we should search every prison and dungeon until we find the woman,” bantered Eragon. He actually thought it would be a good idea. Brom laughed and rode on.

Every time Paolini uses “bantered” as a speech tag, I die a little inside. I also can’t tell whether or not the narration is making fun of Eragon here. He can’t really believe it would be feasible to search every prison or dungeon even if they weren’t wanted men, can he?

Brom’s strict training filled nearly every hour as the days slowly blended into weeks. Because of his splint, Eragon was forced to use his left hand whenever they sparred. Before long he could duel as well with his left hand as he had with his right.

Just like learning to read, becoming ambidextrous is apparently a piece of cake in this world. I’m sure the fact that he had to use his left hand for everything helped, but it seems like Eragon keeps picking up new skills with unrealistic speed. Not to mention, wouldn’t he still need his other arm for balance? A person’s non-dominant hand isn’t just a dead weight.

They come across Leona Lake, and there’s a couple pages of pointless filler while Eragon and Saphira play in the water for the day. That night Brom and Eragon spar once again, and Eragon wins by disarming Brom.

They stood panting, the red sword tip resting on Brom’s collarbone. Eragon slowly lowered his arm and backed away. It was the first time he had bested Brom without resorting to trickery. Brom picked up his sword and sheathed it. Still breathing hard, he said, “We’re done for today.”

“But we just started,” said Eragon, startled.

Brom shook his head. “I can teach you nothing more of the sword. Of all the fighters I’ve met, only three of them could have defeated me like that, and I doubt any of them could have done it with their left hand.” He smiled ruefully. “I may not be as young as I used to be, but I can tell that you’re a talented and rare swordsman.”

I know I’ve mentioned before that I’m having trouble keeping track of the passage of time in this book, but as far as I can tell Eragon and Brom have been traveling together for a couple of months now – maybe four at the latest, since they left Carvahall in the winter and it’s now spring. Now Paolini is telling me that, in those short months, Eragon has gone from being completely unskilled in the art of swordsmanship to being better than his teacher – and on top of that, we’re asked to accept that Eragon somehow managed to master fighting with his left hand in an even shorter span of time than it took him to learn with his right.

I call bullshit.

As I’m not an expert on, well, anything, I can’t say definitively that it’s impossible for Eragon to master sword fighting in a couple months. I can, however, say that even if it is possible it stretches my suspension of disbelief to the point of snapping. Maybe if Eragon had done nothing but train, all day, every day, it might be believable, but even then I think it would be hard to accept. Unless Brom is a really bad swordsman. That I could believe.

Brom tells Eragon that he will most likely lose a sword fight against elves, the Ra’zac, and other magical creatures. Magic, he says, will work against them, but against stronger enemies he’ll need to have Saphira’s help. This prompts Eragon to ask how to fight with magic – a question I would have expected from him a lot sooner, considering he’s been using magic for several weeks to attack non-magical creatures and presumably expects to run into magic-using enemies at some point in the future (especially if he’s going to go up against Galbatorix). Brom goes on to describe what he calls a “wizards’ duel” but sounds more like a high-stakes staring contest: essentially, since the split second between uttering a spell and the activation of that spell leaves enough time to utter a counter-spell (assuming that you can think on your feet, that you know the words you need to use and the correct way to use them, that you’re well-versed enough in the ancient language to recall these words at a moment’s notice, and/or that you don’t have a tendency to have words get stuck on the tip of your tongue), the combatants have to break into the other’s mental defenses to know what their opponent is going to do, so they can immediately counter-spell them and kill them.

Brom’s advice on wizards’ duels? Run away. Which sounds like good advice, right up to the point where the other guy casts his spells anyway and kills you while you’re fleeing.

Times Eragon is noted as being special: 2

Brom shook his head. “As far as I know, it’s impossible for anyone to know if they’re being scryed upon. […] This dream of yours is peculiar. Somehow you managed to scry in your sleep something that you’d never seen before – without saying the words of power. Dreams do occasionally touch the spirit realm, but this is different.” (pg 240)

Brom shook his head. “I can teach you nothing more of the sword. Of all the fighters I’ve met, only three of them could have defeated me like that, and I doubt any of them could have done it with their left hand.” He smiled ruefully. “I may not be as young as I used to be, but I can tell that you’re a talented and rare swordsman.” (pg. 244)

Total: 11

Memorable quotes:

Leona Lake looked like a thin sheet of silver beaten over the land. The water was so calm and smooth it did not even seem to be liquid. Aside from a bright strip of moonlight reflecting off the surface, it was indistinguishable from the ground. (pg. 241) Wait, so it’s a sheet of silver, but it’s indistinguishable from the ground? What?

Suddenly confident, Eragon swung Zar’roc faster than ever, weaving a web of steel around Brom’s sword. (pg. 243)