I re-read the recommendations on the back of the book for the twentieth time, wondering whether I had read something quite different by accident:
"An authentic work of great talent (New York Times) " A galloping good example of its genre (Daily Telegraph) " Paolini is a born storyteller (The Age) " A genuine page-turner that 11-year-olds and up will find unputdownable (NZ Herald)."
I feel just a little foolish having formed such a completely different opinion from so many esteemed publications, but I can't help but point out the obvious: the Emperor has no clothes.
Brisingr is not just distinctly lacking in authenticity, it is an extremely badly written book. As for "unputdownable' the only thing that forced me to finish reading it was the need to reflect on it fairly for this review. Now this is not the rant of someone unfamiliar with the fantasy genre. Those who have read my reviews on Eragon and Eldest will know that I take this area of fiction and its ability to shape young minds quite seriously. Consequently I won't bother repeating my objections to Paolini's thoroughly unoriginal content or his determined atheism. However the continued mass promotion of his Inheritance Cycle requires at least some consideration of the "wisdom' passed on in its latest volume.
Brisingr picks up the story of Eragon, last of the Dragon Riders, after the battle of the Burning Plains. He continues to fight alongside the Varden, a group of freedom fighters who seek to overthrow the evil Emporer Galbatorix. Really, there's not much more to it than that which is amazing considering this volume runs to some 750 pages. Sadly, Paolini has become something of a cash-cow and it seems that no editor is prepared to startle this author with a red pen. The plot meanders, the characters are stereotypes and their responses to each other are characterized by unreasonable bursts of emotion and justified by the most threadbare logic. Even this would be forgivable if the book was enjoyable to read, but the prose is as purple and difficult to digest as the paperback itself.
Am I angry? Certainly. Frustrated? More than a little. ... Jealous? You bet. But not for anything I might write. I am jealous for the authors whose shoulders support Paolini, from whom he has borrowed so liberally, but failed to learn from. I'm also jealous for the readers who will grow up thinking this tripe is good, and the still forming minds to whom his pop psychology will sound like wisdom till the day it fails under pressure.
And that, finally, is the saddest part of this publication. I was recently in hospital recovering from an unexpected operation " no, I didn't burst a blood vessel during another review " and I met a young orderly who was a big fan of the Inheritance Cycle. He saw Brisingr next to my bed and immediately started to tell me how fantastic he thought it was. I asked him what he liked the most, and he told me that, among other things, it was fantastic because "" it helps you understand everything about life." Now, sadly, Brisingr is woefully inaccurate about many aspects of life. Paolini makes some very basic mistakes about a wide range of topics including dogs, fire, metallurgy, injuries and military tactics. He even has a character's hand lopped off at one point and treats it like a flesh-wound that can be ignored at will. But the worst mistakes are the philosophical ones.
Paolini continues to equate religion with a lack of thinking. The more zealous the belief, the more unreasoning the believer. He even has a god appear to his worshippers at one stage, but the most sympathetic believers admit in private that the manifestation was unlikely to be the "real thing'. Paolini's hero admires the faith of some of the people he meets, but cannot bring himself to subjugate his personality or deny his intellect " as if a belief in God required as much. His hero struggles momentarily with the idea that so many people seem to believe in a divine being, but ultimately solves the problem by accepting everything and nothing at all:
"How am I supposed to know which religion is the true religion? Eragon wondered. Just because someone follows a certain faith does not necessarily mean it is the right path " Perhaps no one religion contains all the truth of the world. Perhaps every religion contains fragments of the truth and it is our responsibility to identify those fragments and piece them together. Or perhaps the elves are right and there are no gods. But how can I know for sure?"
Eragon and Paolini are apparently not prepared to accept any supreme being that is not completely comprehensible to their limited intellect. On that basis, the only acceptable god is man.
But despite their philosophical security, the author and his characters are unable to escape a deep-felt need that pervades Brisingr. Each of the key characters desperately desires to be understood and accepted, even some of the villains. Paolini actually describes the ultimate resolution of this need as he describes the one-mind relationship between Eragon and his psychic dragon, Saphira:
"Their greatest comfort was a simple one: they were no longer alone. To know that you were with one who cared for you, and who understood every fibre of your being, and who would not abandon you in even the most desperate of circumstances, that was the most precious relationship a person could have, and both Eragon and Saphira cherished it."
In Brisingr this relationship is the sole province of the very few dragon riders left in the magical land of Alagaesia. The sad fact that there are no other dragons left leaves little hope for the rest of his multitude of characters. However it would be worth pointing out to young readers of The Inheritance Cycle that what Paolini has unwittingly described is the need at the heart of every human, which God offers to freely satisfy. Through Jesus every human being can rise to the level of a dragon rider, and this connection seems to deliver far more peace and security than Eragon could boast.
