Eldest

I should begin by telling you that I’ve never cared for science fiction. I just didn’t get the point of it. Why invent imaginary worlds, with people and creatures that don’t exist, when the real one is so full of inspiration?

That was before I read Eldest, the second book in Christopher Paolini’s fantasy trilogy, Inheritance, which tells the story of a 16-year-old orphan who discovers his destiny as a Dragon Rider. The first book’s publishing story was almost as fantastic—Paolini wrote it at 15 and he and his parents self-published it, only to have it make every best seller list in the country.

When Eldest picks up, Eragon learns that he is “the only hope for resisting the Empire” of Galbatorix, the evil ruler who has turned the villages of Alagaësia into battlefields. Eragon sets off on a journey to be trained as a Rider, his dragon Saphira at his side, and until he’s ready to fight Galbatorix, life is treacherous in this already weird and magical place. As Eragon says to Saphira after she tells him no one will be comfortable until things return to normal: “Define normal.”

It would be hard not to be drawn in by an adventure of these proportions. A true hero epic, Paolini’s story borrows loosely from the tradition of Scandinavian mythology. (And Alagaësia’s languages are based on old Norse, which gives the names their strange, square quality, like words spelled backwards.) At 700 pages the novel is a feat of well-paced storytelling, utterly untouched by pop culture’s short attention span, and Paolini unfolds his tale with the patience of a monk.

But the real beauty of his novel is just that—the beauty. When Eragon reaches the enchanted elf village Ellesméra where he will receive his training, he is delighted to find a true fairyland where “the legends of old still bestride the earth.” The elven buildings blend “seamlessly with the rest of the forest until it was impossible to tell where artifice ended and nature resumed,” and the (mostly) magical beings who live there fill the woods with their clear, high singing.

Alagaësia’s surroundings are unfamiliar—there’s the dragon roost high in the mountain peaks, and a crow that speaks in doggerel—but they come to realistic life like an exotic depiction in National Geographic. “When it rained, the clouds and the forest canopy plunged them into profound darkness, as if they were entombed deep underground. The falling water would collect on the black pine needles above, then trickle through an pour a hundred feet or more down onto their heads, like a thousand little rainfalls.” The descriptions of Eragon’s dragon are the most loving. She may be scaly, fire-breathing, and ready to take on Galbatorix, but Saphira is also Eragon’s best friend, a kindred soul who communicates with him telepathically, flicks her tail to show her disapproval, and offers a wing to curl up under on lonely nights. Like Edward Gorey’s amusingly recognizable fantasy creatures—his lazy, feline boggersloth comes to mind—Saphira Brightscales could only be the creation of a true animal lover.

While a novel of this caliber needs no qualifiers, it really is astonishing that a 21-year-old wrote it. Through Eragon, Paolini demonstrates an awesome, and sometimes awe-struck, knowledge of all the wonderful things the world has to offer, from farming to metalworking, to linguistics, philosophy and art.

That’s when you realize: this writer hasn’t abandoned the real world at all. He’s in love with it. And just as his fantastic world was influenced by our real one, you may find that traces of Alagaësia remain with you, changing the way you look at your cat or the singing of the cicadas on these long summer nights.

Those who are eagerly anticipating the follow-up to Eragon will be thrilled with this rich, sophisticated novel. And to those who have never considered reading a book with something like a dragon on its cover, Paolini may make a believer of you yet. I, for one, can’t wait to find out what happens in book three.