My goal is not to give any perception-altering insight into Christopher Paolini’s personal life, but to uncover some general attitudes he presents through his characters.
I won’t be making any assumptions based on the races in the Inheritance Cycle. It is interesting to note that Paolini makes his elves into a race of long-lived deep thinkers who shun religious belief, and that he shows a humanizing view of the wild Urgals in the final chapters of Eldest, but by and large the races of the Inheritance Cycle run the regular gamut of emotions, beliefs, actions, and trials that we regular humans do. It’s not until we start looking at the individual characters that we find anything we can really dig into. I’d like to start by examining some of the minor roles in the story, looking at the villains first, and then end with the characters I think are most significant.
Sloan doesn’t become a villain until the book Eldest, though he does nothing to endear himself to us with his harsh treatment of Eragon and his opposition to Roran’s intended engagement to Katrina. Sloan has been bitter and fearful for years, overprotective of his daughter after the death of his wife in the Spine, but he is still respected as an important member of the community. That trust puts him in a position where the flaws in his judgment allow him to betray the villagers of Carvahall during a siege of the village by the Ra’zac and the soldiers of the Empire. He kills one of his fellow villagers, and takes his unwilling daughter with him as he allies himself with the Ra’zac. Sloan is heavy-handed with his daughter, rude to the village in general, and kills one of those he should have been protecting, but it is clear that one of the major forces behind his decision is a misguided effort to protect his daughter. Sloan’s actions prove more of a detriment to Katrina than a help, and though he only realizes this too late, he does realize it. Sloan is blinded and tortured when the Ra’zac turn on him. When Eragon frees Sloan, it is clear that despite the ordeal Sloan’s thinking has not changed. Knowing Sloan will never cease searching for his daughter, fearing what will happen to both Katrina and Roran when he finds them, Eragon uses the ancient language and Sloan’s true name to separate Sloan from his daughter forever and compels him to travel north to live among the elves. We are left waiting to see if there is any redemption for Sloan as the story continues. We may even hope there is, because Paolini has helped us empathize with this supposedly evil character.
Murtagh is in the strange position of being an unwilling villain. Again, Paolini helps us empathize. Murtagh has no choice.
He does what he is doing because of the knowledge he has of his father’s evil deeds and the compulsion of his vows in the Ancient Language. Murtagh is an almost heroic character, finding small ways to avoid the path he is forced to tread even as a greater force drives him to do what he otherwise wouldn’t. His desire to hide his shame is overcome by his desire to do what is right. I’m waiting to see if his need to do right proves to be his downfall or his ultimate salvation.
When we are first introduced to Durza, it seems he is the embodiment of evil. Crimson hair and maroon eyes set him apart from humanity in appearance the same way his unearthly power sets him above so many in magical ability. He kills mercilessly, driving the Urgals under his command to commit deeds of base animalism only exceeded in their baseness by the violent actions of Durza himself. He is portrayed as a person so devoid of pity that he deserves to die. But in the final battle between Durza and Eragon, Paolini again surprises us with the depth of his characters. During the mental struggle of the fight, the barriers between the minds of Durza and Eragon are breached. Eragon is subjected to flashes of the path Durza followed to become what he is. Eragon experiences Durza as a child, his mother combing his hair; Durza’s family being shunned for his father’s sin; Durza weeping over his parents’ graves; Durza being rescued and nurtured by, and in return nurturing, Haeg the sorcerer; Durza calling upon spirits to avenge Haeg’s murder only to be overwhelmed by the power of the entities he has summoned. Mere pages before Durza’s death, Paolini paints him as someone to sorrow for, not someone to abhor.
With the exception of the Twins, the villains of Inheritance are all victims of circumstance. Galbatorix went mad and took power only after the death of his dragon. The Urgals only fight and kill under Durza’s coercion or to provide for and protect their families. Sloan only betrays Carvahall to protect Katrina. Murtagh only pledges allegiance to Galbatorix under duress, and keeps his oath only because the Ancient Language will not let him break it. Durza is only what he is because the spirits that overpowered him are evil. The Ra’zac are monstrous, but they are the last of their kind, and they allied themselves to Galbatorix in an effort to create a legacy to be remembered by. Paolini looks past these vile actions to see the flawed circumstance of the people who initiated them. He shows us clearly where the characters went wrong, and in a way lessens their responsibility for their actions. Paolini doesn’t absolve the perpetrators, but he does suggest that evil is not absolute. We can question the reasons for someone’s actions, but we must also ask ourselves if we would have done any differently in their position. Galbatorix’s circumstances have not yet been fully exposed, and I look forward to seeing the final villain uncovered. Are there similar lines of force driving Galbatorix to give in to his darker urges?
The villains of Inheritance could be heroes, but for a twist of fate. The same is true of the heroes. They are imperfect, loved by some and despised by others. Their flaws and inexperience often cause problems despite their good intentions.
Brom is one of the least flawed of Paolini’s heroes. He is patient, waiting years as he watches over Eragon, never letting on to his true intentions. His only shortcoming is his inability to end the tasks he starts. He almost ends the reign of the evil Dragon Riders. He almost completes the training of Eragon. He almost succeeds in his quest to reestablish the Dragon Riders among those free of Galbatorix’s rule. Brom is perfect, or would be if time or situation ever allowed him to fully succeed. It is in Brom that Paolini explores the fatalistic notion of incomplete victory, showing that no matter how well a job is done, it is never truly a success unless it is finished.
Paolini also suggests that just because a person is a hero does not mean he will always stay one. In the first book of the Inheritance Cycle, Murtagh is one of Eragon’s most trusted companions. After Brom’s death, it is Murtagh who becomes Eragon’s training companion and sparring partner. Murtagh saves Eragon’s life on several occasions, traveling with him (sometimes unwillingly) until the great battle at Tronjheim. It is in Tronjheim that Murtagh disappears and is presumed killed, and in a way he is killed, for the Murtagh that returns at the end of Eldest is not Eragon’s friend and ally but the sworn servant of Galbatorix. Murtagh has spent his life running and hiding from the repercussions of being a fallen Dragon Rider’s son only to become one of the fallen himself. Paolini gives us empathy for the villains of the story, but he also does not elevate the heroes to a lofty standard where there is no possibility of falling.
Let’s look at the example of Roran. Roran is my favorite character in the story, mainly because he is not blessed with extraordinary talents and gifts like his cousin Eragon. Roran is thrust into untenable situations where he has to react, lead, and make life-and-death decisions whether he wants to or not. Dealing with the death of his father and loss of the family farm was hard enough. Believing those losses were the fault of a trusted family member, in this case Eragon, makes them harder still. Through it all Roran steels himself with the knowledge that Katrina loves him, and if he can only set the situation right, reclaim his life, and put himself back into a position of responsibility, then he will be able to move on. But his connection with Eragon upsets his plans once again. Soldiers come looking for him because of his cousin and lay siege to the town. Roran is faced with a choice: leave his family home and the woman he loves, or stay and protect what is left of all he cares for. In making his decision, he is forced to set aside tradition and even become a killer in defense of his future wife and the village. Roran is bl
amed for the death of several villagers killed by the soldiers, and though he defends the village and is considered its leader, there are those who will not let him forget the lives that were lost, nor the price of reckoning that is still to come. Paolini sets Roran up as a savior and hero but makes sure the reader knows that there are those who hate him for it.
Eragon may well represent the other side of Roran’s coin. Like Roran, Eragon is put in positions where he can only react. He didn’t choose to be the recipient of Saphira’s egg—though as a child of one of the Dragon Riders, he may not truly have had a choice. Eragon did choose to keep the egg and the dragon, however. It is here we see the major difference between Roran and Eragon: Where Roran seems to be universally cursed for his well-intentioned choices, Eragon receives blessings and curses in equal measure. Eragon is blessed with Saphira, though it leads to the death of his adoptive father and the destruction of the family home. He is forced to flee, but is blessed again in that he is accompanied by Brom, who becomes his protector and teacher. Ambushed by Urgals, Eragon finds his connection to the Ancient Language, and through the language and his connection to Saphira, Eragon is able to advance far beyond his former capabilities. He is running and hiding to avoid detection and capture by Galbatorix’s forces, but he is at the same time finding a new level of freedom thanks to his burgeoning skills as a Dragon Rider. Brom is killed but Murtagh takes his place. Eragon finds the Varden and becomes a proven hero in his defense of Tronjheim, slaying the shade Durza, only to receive a crippling wound from Durza’s final blow. Eragon persists in his training despite the progressing pain from his injury and is rewarded by finding out there is still a living Dragon Rider, Oromis, to train him—but not as well as he might due to an injury that took away Oromis’ capability to fully use magic and the Ancient Language. Eragon is scorned by those he trains with because of his human heritage, only to have his weakness and injury taken away during the Blood-Oath Celebration of the Elves. For every few trials Eragon must face, there is a reward—though the rewards may not always be worth the price.
Like Roran, Eragon is not held blameless for the mistakes he makes. The prime example of this is his blessing of the child Elva. His attempt to shield her from harm turns her into a shield from harm because of his ignorance of the Ancient Language. The mistake is something that appalls the elves and earned Eragon a serious tongue-lashing from the witch Angela, adding to his already guilty conscience. When the attempt to free Elva from the curse goes awry Eragon is again absolved of part of his responsibility, this time by Elva herself, and held blameless by others because he at least made the attempt to free her. Here is another point where Eragon and Roran diverge. While Roran is held to the consequences of all his actions, Eragon, often because of his position of Dragon Rider, is given a reprieve when he explains how he means to set things right. Eragon’s life is by no means easy, but the constant influx of help and forgiveness from unexpected sources, not to mention the support and understanding of Saphira, greatly eases the burden he has to bear. Roran is compelled forward by will alone. Roran is held responsible despite his circumstances; Eragon is always lucking into second chances.
I know there are people who read a book and feel they know the author. I don’t think that’s really possible without talking directly to the writer, like Harlan did with James. My brother and the character in Starchild that Harlan compared him to did share some similarities, but that other character still wasn’t James. No matter how well a character is constructed, it still pales when compared to a real person. No matter what insight a character may give to its creator, or what similar qualities it possesses, it is still never fully representative of the person. You can read the words someone writes, but it is not the same as knowing them.
I think a better way to approach the understanding of a person through the characters of Inheritance is to do this: Find the character that you identify with the most and see what that says about you. There are characters in Eragon that I like, but it wasn’t until Roran started going through hell in Eldest that I became a convert to Paolini. I feel a kinship with Roran that is deep and real to me. I’d like to think I would respond the same way in similar situations, while at the same time I’m glad that he’s the one acting out the harsh reality instead. The way a character touches you is a far better truth to learn than what of the author’s personality that character represents. Knowing a character, feeling for that character, can be very revealing to the person reading (though if you find yourself bonding with Sloan, Durza, or the Ra’zac you might want to seek professional help).
I’ve never met Christopher Paolini. I don’t know him, but I do know this: Paolini has created characters that are strong, complex, and loved by millions of people; he has a great talent for making believable characters. I know I identify with some of his creations, and I know I’ll read more of Inheritance as the story continues.
If I ever get the chance to ask Christopher whether or not any of his characters are based on him or anyone he knows, I probably will. If I don’t, just knowing Paolini’s characters is good enough for me.
Jeremy Owen has worked as a stonemason, a carpenter, an artist, a writer, an animatronics engineer, and more. He is collaborating with his brother James on several illustrated books, and is working on his first novel. He lives with his family in Silvertown, Arizona, where he currently works as the production manager at the Coppervale Studio.
The Thing About Elves Is ...
GAIL SIDONIE SOBAT
Writing abour elves is a two-edged sword: On the one hand, elves ar such an entrenched part of fantasy literature that it’s practically a requirement to include them in one way or another. But on the other hand, elves have been used so frequently (and often, poorly) that they’ve become a stereotype. Sobat eloquently outlines Paolini’s use of elves in the Inheritance Cylcle while interweaving a history of elves in fiction and mythology. Her conclusion is that Paolini skims the edge of the sword-benefiting from our collective concept of elves while painting a vesion of them that is darkly, and uniquely, his own.
Well, they’re a slippery lot. Hard to pin down. The wee folk. The little people. Fairies. Or is that faeries? Or brownies? Or pixies? Pan or Puck? Sylphs or dryads or nymphs? Goblins or hobgoblins or gremlins or gnomes? Leprechauns or imps or sprites?
Enough to set the mind reeling!
So to begin at the beginning, sort of: according to the Oxford English Dictionary, elf is an Old English word (sometimes spelled ylf/ielf/aelf/alf) which denotes “a class of supernatural beings, believed to be of dwarfish form, and to possess magical powers, which they exercised either to the help or the hurt of mankind. Now a mere synonym of fairy. Sometimes distinguished from fairies a) as a subject species; b) as more malignant.”
But how did these creatures of the stuffy Oxford morph into the vibrant Arya and Islanzadí and Oromis and those other elves who people (er . . . elfize?) Paolini’s Inheritance Cycle? Well, like so many other creatures of mythology—or to use Tolkien’s phrase, faery—elves have an intricate and fascinating history.
But let’s just get the fairy thing out of the way now, then, shall we? There is no denying that fairies are elves are fairies. The grand master J. R. R. Tolkien himself cites the term “fairy” as “a relatively modern word, hardly used until the Tudor period” derived from the French fae or fée and with English derivatives ranging from fey to fay to faerie, to fayre, to fairy to faery and etc. But the word has fallen into disfavor—except largely for prepubescent girls who fawn all over things fairy—due to certain associations. You know the ones. Fairy equals effeminate equals catamite equals gay. Fairies are gay. Which is often true in the old sense of the word gay, meaning “full of or disposed to joy and mirth; light-hearted, exuberantly cheerful, sportive, merry” (as the OED defines it). But more usual these days is that fairies are gay per the slang first introduced in the United States circa 1924.
No wonder modern-day fantasists much prefer the less connotative “elves.” But you wil
l understand when I slip into the world of faery and interchangeably use fairy or elf that I intend nothing derogatory or stereotypical or homophobic.
Diane Purkiss, who like Tolkien and presumably Paolini despises the “little wingy thingies” of later sanitized fairy lore, traces elves to their dark and downright dangerous roots in the ancient worlds of Egypt, Mesopotamia (that’s modern-day Iraq and part of Iran, to you), Greece, and Rome. In her book At the Bottom of the Garden: A Dark History of Fairies, Hobgoblins and Other Troublesome Things, she finds not-so-distant elvish cousins in the demons of the dead, child-snatching bogeys and chimney-sprites, gorgons like Medusa with her snaky locks, Siren chanteuses who lure mariners to their deaths, Gello the child-hungry and devouring murderess, Lilith and her frightsome ilk. Purkiss concludes from her study of the ancients that from the start, elves “[came] from the outside,” that they “were either once people or are like people who have become trapped,” that they are linked “with the dead, and some are the dead,” but above all, can be deadly.
This rendering of elves seems very far removed from the noble and fastidious, not to mention vegetarian, elves of Paolini’s universe. And yet. The elves of Islanzadí are removed from other inhabitants of Alagaësia, living as they do in Ellesméra, perhaps a thinly veiled reference to the real-world Ellesmere Island. Living in Canada as I do, I know that Ellesmere Island is very far to the north in the inhospitable yet beautiful Canadian territory of Nunavut, certainly “outside” unless one is Inuit and well adapted to the conditions of northern life. Further, Paolini’s elves are also people-like and trapped by the dire circumstances of Galbatorix’s master plan, his increasing powers, and the demise of the Riders and dragons. There are hints throughout both novels that the elven powers are diminished—Islanzadí herself evaluates her leadership in a whisper, “I am diminished” (Eldest). Birthrates are middling to poor; thus instead of a thriving and growing culture, elves are reduced in numbers and choose to sequester themselves away in Du Weldenvarden, with but one crippled master and a maimed dragon left of their former glory.
Secrets of the Dragon Riders: Your Favorite Authors on Christopher Paolini's Inheritance Cycle: Completely Unauthorized Page 12