by Je suis terrible

Created on: March 09, 2007   Last Updated: September 24, 2009

Christopher Paolini wastes no time in lunging into the action and, hence, I shall do the same. Eragon is yet another book which follows the set template for a fantasy novel. An ordinary village boy is hurled into the midst of a war between a ruthless tyrant, whose past by-the-way has some relation to our young hero, and a freedom fighting coalition of elves, dwarves, men and beasts. Enter Brom, the supposed story-teller, whose adept swordsmanship and immense knowledge of magic and the origins of the war make the final revelation of his identity a total anti-climax.

The entire book for me was rather too amateurish. One must commend Christopher Paolini for his precocious talent as a writer; however, it is just that: precocious, or want for a better expression, good for a youngster. It seems throughout to be lacking in real substance. The very basis of the story is flawed.

After finding a mysterious stone in the forest Eragon rapidly becomes the focus of the entire struggle for supremacy in Alagaesia. The dreaded Ra'zac are dispatched at once to retrieve the kings prize; which of course results in the senseless slaughter of Eragon's dear uncle Garrow. This spurs him onto a fruitless quest for revenge; with Brom in tow. Slowly, but surely, the truth of Eragon's importance is revealed and, yet, not once does the reader get the impression that Eragon truly feels the weight of responsibility that he bears.

He is the first dragon rider since their demise decades ago, whose fate is the basis on which the war supposedly rests and, yet, not once does Eragon stand in awe of his situation. Indeed he is even so absentminded as to consider just traipsing off into the sunset by himself.

The majority of the book is spent on the trail of the Ra'zac, with the trusty duo following countless breadcrumbs to locate the dastardly pair and claim vengeance for Garrow. However, when at last the two are located nothing happens. This thus leaves the reader with a bitter feeling of pointlessness for the first three hundred and fifty pages, where little or nothing happened of significance, except a bit of swordplay and tutoring, which rapidly becomes pedantic, and the introduction and quick departure of characters who lend little or nothing to the actual story.

The story is suddenly dramatically altered by the rescue of Arya, where the dreaded Shade is dismissed with surprising ease and a race against time to reach the Varden, hidden in their mountain dwellings. The time spent with the suspicious

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