Paolini's Eragon - book review

I chose to read Christopher Paolini’s Eragon mainly because it’s a best-selling young adult fantasy novel that just came out as a movie. Since several people have accused my book of being young adult fantasy (which may or may not prove to be the case), I figured I’d better read something from the sub-genre in order to figure it out.

I must confess that I would not have finished reading this book had I not felt morally obligated to do so, being my choice and all, and me being a Graduate Student instead of an undergrad (you know, cuz that changes everything, right? Um. Sure.)

Long story short: I'm glad this book came free from the library, and I won't be reading the sequels.

The story just felt run of the mill to me. My thinking, within a few chapters, was something like this:

“Oh, here we go, a boy at the threshold of manhood, finds a magical object and is forced to go on a quest, and finds himself and, naturally, a hot little lady on the way. The pair will team up and defeat a dark force, definitely related to the Shade on first page and to the afore-mentioned magical object and, ultimately, prevail.”

And that’s exactly what happened, with plenty of loose ends left untied so that the sequel will have some material to get started with. Nothing really surprised me about the story. There were, I admit, some wonderful scenes and nice sensory details here and there, but for the more part? Eh. I rushed to finish so I could move on to something better.

Luckily, before I could complain too much about the rather sloppy writing replete with adverb atrocities, dialogue-tag blunders, and way-too-many info dumps (ixnay on the whole “Dragon Tales” chapter), I happened to flip to the About the Author page.

Turns out Paolini, the precocious little scamp, was a mere fifteen years old when he wrote this. (I probably should have known this, huh?)

Man.

When I was fifteen, I was puking out horrid little stories about psychotic cheerleader squads and my first fictional alter ego, a butcher-knife wielding Mariah who killed off her enemies with bloody flair. Enemies who, by the way, had the exact same names as all of my real-life foes.

[Just imagine, if you will, what could have happened if my parents had owned a publishing company. *shivers* ]

Paolini, at 15, wrote a novel that became a best-seller.

I can’t exactly expect a kid to have mastered the English language and vanquished all writing demons, especially if I’m nearly twice his age and my first novel is so terribly embarrassing that I would burn all the copies if I could force myself to spark ‘em.

He’s one of those kids that drove me wild with jealously when I was younger. You know the type: Doogie Houser. Need I say more?

In fact, now that I think about it, I’m certain that’s part of the appeal. Had this novel been written by an adult, it might never have gotten the time of day. Instead, it’s a halfway decent tale written by a teenager. [For kids! By kids! What a hot marketing concept!] - Note: After I finished writing this, I checked out the amazon reviews. I am not alone.

Paolini’s already had at least one other novel published, maybe more, but that doesn’t mean he can write. He’s riding a publishing wave at the moment, (Send my regards to J.K.) but I wasn’t impressed enough to read more in the series. I’m sure I’m not the only person out there to feel that way. (Am I?) I figure the true test of whether Paolini can write is when I pick up one of his books in another ten years and see how his writing has changed. I’ll let you know what I think then.

P.S. Hah! I love the beautiful irony of this quote:

"The real torture with Eragon came in the editing. I discovered that editing is really another word for someone ruthlessly tearing apart your work with a big smile, all the while telling you that it will make the book so much better. And it did, though it felt like splinters of hot bamboo being driven into my tender eyeballs."

Oh, friend, you haven't even gotten started.

Blessings from the Bagel Gnome

Free Bagels for YOU!

Limited time offer: Every guest to my home this weekend will receive, absolutely free, bagels. Cream cheese optional. Taxes and applicable "gross, they came from a dumpster" fees may apply.

E I E I Sucks, A review

E I E I Sucks
A review by Danny Peters, third grade

Last night's presentation of "E I E I Oops" by the Doubletree school district's kindergarten through second grade was a mediocre revamp of every school musical I've ever seen, and I'm in third grade, so that's plenty.

On one hand, the person behind this musical, Mrs. Little, had the very good idea of putting the kindergarten kids on the floor. This was a good idea for two reasons:

1) They won't get beat up by second graders like I did when I was a "B" in Alphabet Soup
2) Kindergarteners smell.

Good call, Mrs. Little.

What wasn't a good call was having six female second-graders play the chicks.

"What could have been a post-feminism commentary on traditional gender roles became a farce that recreated the same-old scenario," Mrs. Sondra Peters, my mom, said. "It's a bunch of crap, kiddo."

Tony Fontaza, who is a major jerk, got to play the rooster even though he's a third-year second grader. That's so lame.

I must confess, however, that this show's choreography, done by the beautiful and unmarried Ms. Barbara Anne, was masterful, especially for the pig rock out and the chicken dance. Ms. Barbara Anne, will you marry me?

The best part of the show was the mule, played by Tommy Peters, my brother. Man, we practiced that "Eh Hah" line for hours. After the show, I bet I wasn't the only one tempted to climb to my feet and yell "More mule!"

The only part about this show that was even close to realistic was the Farmer Dell's wife, played by that big girl, I forget her name, who looks like she's in sixth grade. This is very realistic. My aunt Jennifer is taller than Uncle Harry, so I should know.

Issues of realism aside (I mean, singing cows, chickens, and pigs? Come on!), the finale song "Moo Bah Cluck Cluck Oink" was a letdown after such a dramatic build-up. First of all, Allison Jenners is much too small to pass as a cow. Secondly, she gave in and Moo-ed much too easily. This play had zero dramatic impact.

What would have been way cool is if the cow had some sort of laser beam that she used to kill off all of the other barnyard animals before she gave in and mooed. Maybe she could have had a light saber. Then the mule, my brother, could have had one, too. They could have had a major battle up there on the stage, and if you knew my brother, which I do, you'd know that he can fake dying better than anyone in the whole world! For real!

The worst part of all was the self-serving speech by Mrs. Little that kept us in our seats and away from the cookies and punch for four whole minutes (I timed it). Who cares if Denny Flock ran sound? We want more mule!

[This is how I procrastinate - writing silly fake reviews. I did, however, see this musical last night at GSHS, and it didn't suck. My friend Taylor wore an outfit we made together (minus the skull patch which we'll iron on today.)]