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Eragon: Book I (The Inheritance Cycle 1) Kindle Edition
A new adventure hatches in Book One of the Inheritance Cycle, perfect for fans of Lord of the Rings! This New York Times bestselling series has sold over 40 million copies and is an international fantasy sensation.
"Christopher Paolini is a true rarity." —The Washington Post
When fifteen-year-old Eragon finds a polished blue stone in the forest, he thinks it is the lucky discovery of a poor farm boy. But when the stone brings a dragon hatchling, Eragon soon realizes he has stumbled upon a legacy nearly as old as the Empire itself.
Overnight his simple life is shattered, and, gifted with only an ancient sword, a loyal dragon, and sage advice from an old storyteller, Eragon is soon swept into a dangerous tapestry of magic, glory, and power. Now his choices could save—or destroy—the Empire.
- LanguageEnglish
- Grade level7 - 9
- Lexile measure710L
- PublisherKnopf Books for Young Readers
- Publication dateAugust 26, 2003
- ISBN-13978-0375826696
-
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From the Publisher
Editorial Reviews
From Publishers Weekly
Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information, Inc.
From School Library Journal
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
Review
A #1 New York Times Bestseller
A #1 Publishers Weekly Bestseller
A #1 USA Today Bestseller
A Wall Street Journal Bestseller
"An authentic work of great talent." –New York Times Book Review
"Paolini is a spellbinding fantasy writer." –The Boston Globe
"A breathtaking and unheard of success." –USA Today
“Christopher Paolini make[s] literary magic.” –People
“Will appeal to legions of readers who have been captivated by the Lord of the Rings trilogy.” –School Library Journal
Praise for Eragon:
“The new ‘It’ book of children’s lit.” –U.S. News & World Report
“Unusual, powerful, fresh, and fluid.” –Booklist, Starred
"The author takes the near-archetypes of fantasy fiction and makes them fresh and enjoyable, chiefly through a crisp narrative and a likable hero." –Publisher's Weekly
From the Publisher
Eragon was nominated for the American Library Association 2003 Best Books For Young Adults Award.
From the Author
My whole intent with Eragon was to capture the awestruck feeling I always have at the end of a great book or movie. I wanted it to be so that when you, the reader, set Eragon down, you can only say, "Wow!" And if you think Ive succeeded, spread the word! Dance naked in the streets with Eragon! Anything to spread the word!
My favorite part of Eragon is the link between the hero, Eragon, and Saphira, the dragon. Saphira is wry, humorous, savage, and she loves Eragon utterly. And he her. Their relationship forms the central pillar of the story. As I wrote her, Saphira seduced me with her wit and intelligence. At times I felt she could see me, as if she were watching over my shoulder as I wrote the book. Talk about pressure to make it right!
I hope you enjoy my land of Alagaësia. Its as real and complex as our world, and perhaps a little bit nobler. If youve always dreamed of adventure, true love, and stunning vistas, then let me invite you into these pages. Only remember, its much deeper than you think, or expect.
From the Inside Flap
From the Hardcover edition.
About the Author
Christopher Paolini's abiding love of fantasy and science fiction inspired him to begin writing his debut novel, "Eragon," when he graduated from high school at fifteen after being homeschooled all his life. Both "Eragon" and "Eldest," the second book in the Inheritance cycle, became instant "New York Times" bestsellers. Christopher is currently at work on "Brisingr," the third volume in the cycle. He lives in Montana, where the dramatic landscape feeds his visions of Alagaesia.
You can find out more about Christopher and Inheritance at www.alagaesia.com.
Gerard Doyle has appeared in London's West End in "The Hired Man" and in Shakespeare's "Coriolanus" and "The Winter's Tale", and has toured nationally and internationally with the English Shakespeare Company. He has appeared on Broadway in "The Weir" and on television in "New York Undercover" and "Law and Order". Mr. Doyle is also an award-winning audiobook narrator.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Eragon knelt in a bed of trampled reed grass and scanned the tracks with a practiced eye. The prints told him that the deer had been in the meadow only a half-hour before. Soon they would bed down. His target, a small doe with a pronounced limp in her left forefoot, was still with the herd. He was amazed she had made it so far without a wolf or bear catching her.
The sky was clear and dark, and a slight breeze stirred the air. A silvery cloud drifted over the mountains that surrounded him, its edges glowing with ruddy light cast from the harvest moon cradled between two peaks. Streams flowed down the mountains from stolid glaciers and glistening snowpacks. A brooding mist crept along the valley’s floor, almost thick enough to obscure his feet.
Eragon was fifteen, less than a year from manhood. Dark eyebrows rested above his intense brown eyes. His clothes were worn from work. A hunting knife with a bone handle was sheathed at his belt, and a buckskin tube protected his yew bow from the mist. He carried a wood-frame pack.
The deer had led him deep into the Spine, a range of untamed mountains that extended up and down the land of Alagaësia. Strange tales and men often came from those mountains, usually boding ill. Despite that, Eragon did not fear the Spine–he was the only hunter near Carvahall who dared track game deep into its craggy recesses.
It was the third night of the hunt, and his food was half gone. If he did not fell the doe, he would be forced to return home empty- handed. His family needed the meat for the rapidly approaching winter and could not afford to buy it in Carvahall.
Eragon stood with quiet assurance in the dusky moonlight, then strode into the forest toward a glen where he was sure the deer would rest. The trees blocked the sky from view and cast feathery shadows on the ground. He looked at the tracks only occasionally; he knew the way.
At the glen, he strung his bow with a sure touch, then drew three arrows and nocked one, holding the others in his left hand. The moonlight revealed twenty or so motionless lumps where the deer lay in the grass. The doe he wanted was at the edge of the herd, her left foreleg stretched out awkwardly.
Eragon slowly crept closer, keeping the bow ready. All his work of the past three days had led to this moment. He took a last steadying breath and–an explosion shattered the night.
The herd bolted. Eragon lunged forward, racing through the grass as a fiery wind surged past his cheek. He slid to a stop and loosed an arrow at the bounding doe. It missed by a finger’s breadth and hissed into darkness. He cursed and spun around, instinctively nocking another arrow.
Behind him, where the deer had been, smoldered a large circle of grass and trees. Many of the pines stood bare of their needles. The grass outside the charring was flattened. A wisp of smoke curled in the air, carrying a burnt smell. In the center of the blast radius lay a polished blue stone. Mist snaked across the scorched area and swirled insubstantial tendrils over the stone.
Eragon watched for danger for several long minutes, but the only thing that moved was the mist. Cautiously, he released the tension from his bow and moved forward. Moonlight cast him in pale
shadow as he stopped before the stone. He nudged it with an arrow, then jumped back. Nothing happened, so he warily picked it up.
Nature had never polished a stone as smooth as this one. Its flawless surface was dark blue, except for thin veins of white that spiderwebbed across it. The stone was cool and frictionless under his fingers, like hardened silk. Oval and about a foot long, it weighed several pounds, though it felt lighter than it should have.
Eragon found the stone both beautiful and frightening. Where did it come from? Does it have a purpose? Then a more disturbing thought came to him: Was it sent here by accident, or am I meant to have it? If he had learned anything from the old stories, it was to treat magic, and those who used it, with great caution.
But what should I do with the stone? It would be tiresome to carry, and there was a chance it was dangerous. It might be better to leave it behind. A flicker of indecision ran through him, and he almost dropped it, but something stayed his hand. At the very least, it might pay for some food, he decided with a shrug, tucking the stone into his pack.
The glen was too exposed to make a safe camp, so he slipped back into the forest and spread his bedroll beneath the upturned roots of a fallen tree. After a cold dinner of bread and cheese, he wrapped himself in blankets and fell asleep, pondering what had occurred.
PALANCAR VALLEY
The sun rose the next morning with a glorious conflagration of pink and yellow. The air was fresh, sweet, and very cold. Ice edged the streams, and small pools were completely frozen over. After a breakfast of porridge, Eragon returned to the glen and examined the charred area. The morning light revealed no new details, so he started for home.
The rough game trail was faintly worn and, in places, nonexistent. Because it had been forged by animals, it often backtracked and took long detours. Yet for all its flaws, it was still the fastest way out of the mountains.
The Spine was one of the only places that King Galbatorix could not call his own. Stories were still told about how half his army disappeared after marching into its ancient forest. A cloud of misfortune and bad luck seemed to hang over it. Though the trees grew tall and the sky shone brightly, few people could stay in the Spine for long without suffering an accident. Eragon was one of those few–not through any particular gift, it seemed to him, but because of persistent vigilance and sharp reflexes. He had hiked in the mountains for years, yet he was still wary of them. Every time he thought they had surrendered their secrets, something happened to upset his understanding of them–like the stone’s appearance.
He kept up a brisk pace, and the leagues steadily disappeared. In late evening he arrived at the edge of a precipitous ravine. The Anora River rushed by far below, heading to Palancar Valley. Gorged with hundreds of tiny streams, the river was a brute force, battling against the rocks and boulders that barred its way. A low rumble filled the air.
He camped in a thicket near the ravine and watched the moonrise before going to bed.
It grew colder over the next day and a half. Eragon traveled quickly and saw little of the wary wildlife. A bit past noon, he heard the Igualda Falls blanketing everything with the dull sound of a thousand splashes. The trail led him onto a moist slate outcropping, which the river sped past, flinging itself into empty air and down mossy cliffs.
Before him lay Palancar Valley, exposed like an unrolled map. The base of the Igualda Falls, more than a half-mile below, was the northernmost point of the valley. A little ways from the falls was Carvahall, a cluster of brown buildings. White smoke rose from the chimneys, defiant of the wilderness around it. At this height, farms were small square patches no bigger than the end of his finger. The land around them was tan or sandy, where dead grass swayed in the wind. The Anora River wound from the falls toward Palancar’s southern end, reflecting great strips of sunlight. Far in the distance it flowed past the village Therinsford and the lonely mountain Utgard. Beyond that, he knew only that it turned north and ran to the sea.
After a pause, Eragon left the outcropping and started down the trail, grimacing at the descent. When he arrived at the bottom, soft dusk was creeping over everything, blurring colors and shapes into gray masses. Carvahall’s lights shimmered nearby in the twilight; the houses cast long shadows. Aside from Therinsford, Carvahall was the only village in Palancar Valley. The settlement was secluded and surrounded by harsh, beautiful land. Few traveled here except merchants and trappers.
The village was composed of stout log buildings with low roofs–some thatched, others shingled. Smoke billowed from the chim neys, giving the air a woody smell. The buildings had wide porches where people gathered to talk and conduct business. Occasionally a window brightened as a candle or lamp was lit. Eragon heard men talking loudly in the evening air while wives scurried to fetch their husbands, scolding them for being late.
Eragon wove his way between the houses to the butcher’s shop, a broad, thick-beamed building. Overhead, the chimney belched black smoke.
He pushed the door open. The spacious room was warm and well lit by a fire snapping in a stone fireplace. A bare counter stretched across the far side of the room. The floor was strewn with loose straw. Everything was scrupulously clean, as if the owner spent his leisure time digging in obscure crannies for minuscule pieces of filth. Behind the counter stood the butcher Sloan. A small man, he wore a cotton shirt and a long, bloodstained smock. An impressive array of knives swung from his belt. He had a sallow, pockmarked face, and his black eyes were suspicious. He polished the counter with a ragged cloth.
Sloan’s mouth twisted as Eragon entered. “Well, the mighty hunter joins the rest of us mortals. How many did you bag this time?”
“None,” was Eragon’s curt reply. He had never liked Sloan. The butcher always treated him with disdain, as if he were something unclean. A widower, Sloan seemed to care for only one person–his daughter, Katrina, on whom he doted.
“I’m amazed,” said Sloan with affected astonishment. He turned his back on Eragon to scrape something off the wall. “And that’s your reason for coming here?”
“Yes,” admitted Eragon uncomfortably.
“If that’s the case, let’s see your money.” Sloan tapped his fingers when Eragon shifted his feet and remain...
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Product details
- ASIN : B000FBJCK8
- Publisher : Knopf Books for Young Readers (August 26, 2003)
- Publication date : August 26, 2003
- Language : English
- File size : 8900 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 528 pages
- Page numbers source ISBN : 044023848X
- Best Sellers Rank: #11,176 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- Customer Reviews:
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About the author
Christopher Paolini is the creator of the World of Eragon and the Fractalverse. Holder of the Guinness World Record for youngest author of a bestselling series. Qualified for marksman in the Australian army. Scottish laird. Dodged gunfire . . . more than once. As a child was chased by a moose in Alaska. Has his name inscribed on Mars. Firstborn of Kenneth and Talita. Husband. Father. Asker of questions and teller of stories.
His latest novel, Fractal Noise, will be published on May 16th, 2023.
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I can't remember how I stumbled across "Eragon", but I was at loose ends after the third film of the Lord of the Rings series (and I've read the Tolkien books too many times to count) and I found myself craving more flights of fancy and fantasy. I was taken by the fact that a 15 year old prodigy had begun such an ambitious endeavor, for author Christopher Paolini is planning to write a trilogy about his young hero, Eragon, who goes from poor farm boy to a young master, growing in power, of magic. This first book is subtitled: "The Inheritance".
Paolini's family first self-published 10,000 copies, and Floridian Carl Hiassen helped to sell the fantasy to Knopf, which later released a first national printing of over 100,000 copies.
Paolini embraces the standard fantasy world of humans, dwarves and elves (no hobbits, here!), and adds the existence of dragons, nearly extinct, as creatures of power. Elves, and sometimes humans, are selected by hatchling dragons to become Dragon Riders, companions of dragons who can communicate with them and others by telepathy. Riders have magical powers, but the use of magic drains them of much energy.
The evil forces of the land are somewhat more creative. Sluggish, warring monsters (Tolkiens' Orcs?), the Urgals, abound, but are no threat until they are organized for the king by the evil Ra'Zac (creatures of the King that are not human, covered in cloaks, and strongest at night) and the terrifying
Durka, who is a Shade (a spirit in human form, with crimson hair and maroon eyes) all of whom are working for the king, and trying to locate Eragon and his dragon.
Set in the fantasy world of Alagaesia, Eragon's land is ruled by Galbatorix, who once was a Rider himself. The adult dragons have all perished, and Galbatorix has been dispossessed of one of three dragon eggs by a group dedicated to ending his cruel rule, the Varden. This egg is conveyed to Eragon, and the dragon hatches in his care. Much of the facts of the land are uncovered as the book moves along, and Eragon is slowly filled in on the history of how he got to be who he is. His mother, Selena, has been missing from his life since he was a child, and the book ends without disclosing the mystery of what happened to her and just who his father was.
Alagaesia is bordered by Du Weldenvarden, a deep forest, home to the Elves. It appears that this will be the setting for much of book 2. The country south of the forest is a vast desert that Eragon and his traveling companions must cross to reach safety (the Hadarac). Paolini is particularly clever in devising how the small band of travelers with Eragon gets water while crossing. He's also created rich city and village profiles in the kingdom, as Eragon tries to locate the Ra'Zac, to revenge killings in Eragon's home. South of the desert are the Boer mountains, home to the dwarves, who are assisting the Varden; the climax of the novel takes place in these mountains.
Paolini has peppered his cast with strong characters who will assist Eragon in fulfilling his role. Brom, a wise soothsayer, with mysterious origins, becomes Eragon's mentor. Murtagh, a fearless fighter, accompanies Eragon across the desert to the Boer mountains; his history, when uncovered, is somewhat shocking. Arya is the elven woman that fills Eragon's nightmares, and must be rescued by the travelers from a prison, where she has been cruelly tortured at the hands of Durka. Ajihad is the strong leader of the Varden and Hrothgar the King of the dwarves, both of whom risk their followers to assist the young Rider. Two of the most interesting characters are Angela, an herbalist and her werecat, Solembum, both of whom are much more than they seem. Eragon encounters them more than once in this novel.
Above all, Saphira, the dragon that Eragon hatches and accepts for his own, weaves a magical air into the story, and her relationship to the homeless boy, and their telepathic communion and communication, form the strong story background that sets "Eragon" apart from much of what has been written in the genre in the past.
Paolini's a rich storyteller, with short chapters, and action-packed scenes. He doesn't forget to give his hero a conscience, nor does he fail to set the tone for the second book in the series, "The Eldest". I very much enjoyed the read, and hope he's close to finishing the second in the trilogy.
In fact, good writers are always influenced to some degree by those whom they have read. That's usually how they end up becoming GOOD WRITERS.
Now, take a look at this very sentence in the prologue. This is the first introduction we have to the writing style of Paolini:
"Wind howled through the night, carrying a scent that would change the world."
That is powerful. That has nothing to do with Tolkien or Lewis or anyone. That has to do with individual writing voice, and an extremely good one, at that.
When you read this book, or re-read it - look at it with an eye of examining how the words are put together. It's masterful. I've seen numerous examples, published and unpublished, of authors old and young(er) who were quite obviously influenced by any number of writers. Unfortunately, those writers, and I use the term as a point of reference only, did not choose to, OR HAVE THE ABILITY TO, string together words in such a way that was masterful. Or, for that matter, in any way approaching logic or sense or really, just sort of thrown in together in a way that made me quickly get to my used bookstore to trade in the item as fast as I could get rid of it. I'm talking about published writers who couldn't string together simple sentences and throw in an adjective or two along the way, without getting twisted up and falling over their own ink. And I've seen experienced writers do that, too.
Anybody can use their love of certain written works to come up with similar plot lines.
Plagiarism, as I saw a couple of reviews in here glibly toss out (and I am certain that means that you, of course, never plagiarized any of your reports in high school or college, yes? of course it does :) - is when someone steals another's words and claims them as their own.
Paolini doesn't do that. The dust jacket, all press that I've read about him and his book, the publishers, his parents - everything I've read that promotes his book acknowledges in a broad metaphorical flag-waving right up front, Hey, Paolini was influenced BY - and gives a short list. That's not plagiarism.
Also, ideas are not copyrighted. Words are. Ideas are not. Gilgamesh had an epic journey of good and evil. It's been going on for thousands of years in the written world. If we are going to start pointing fingers at who copied whom, or who had the original idea, I'm afraid you're going to have to point a finger at Tolkien and Lewis and McCaffrey. No writer for centuries has been able to avoid being influenced, to some degree, by those who have gone before.
It's why writing is considered to be immortal, in a sense. Your words live on.
And the words - oh my, Paolini's words. Look at how they are put together. Look at the rich description. That's not plagiarized. That IS original. Look at how he puts together ideas and plots and describes emotions, characters, colors, scents, the change of seasons, the change of terrain - that is all original. The WAY in which he put together his words, is original to him. It's his personal writing voice. Everybody has a writing voice. Some voices ought to be quiet, frankly, because they are that bad. Some voices should be trumpeted.
Paolini's should be trumpeted.
Gosh, you picked up a book that clearly, upfronts notes that Paolini was influenced by Tolkien, then you sit there and smugly type "Hey, ooobbbbbviously he was influenced by Tolkien" - well, gosh. You're like, Einstein. Of course, that would mean you got the idea of being Einstein, from Einstein. :)
Look at the words. Look at how they are put together. Look at how Paolini crafts - yes, he crafts, he's an artist in the most precise sense - the words.
Can you do that?
Because I'm not seeing it in the evidence of some of your reviews. Or perhaps it was an off-day.
Look - really look - at how the words are put together. It is art. It is truly art.
I am confident now that I’m just gonna continue re-reading this series this year in anticipation of Murtagh.
Top reviews from other countries
Reviewed in Germany on March 4, 2024
Reviewed in Mexico on August 21, 2020
This book demonstrates courage, love for one another and plunges you into a totally different world. As you read it, you feel as though you are truly there and it is impossible to put it down. It is a big book, but don't let that put you off, it gives an engaging read and allows you to fully connect with the characters. I would recommend it for children ages 11 + and adults because there are lots of amazing descriptive words in it which may require a dictionary at your side in places!
It has a very sophisticated structure and is brimmed with twists and turns, really plucking at your emotions. I love the dragon in this book, she is so loyal and knowing even when she's just a hatchling. It is such a phenomenal book and I will definitely read the rest of the series as I am so gripped. Thank you Christopher Paolini, your books give me such joy to read.
P.s. per chi non ci avesse fatto caso il libro è in Inglese.
Reviewed in Italy on May 20, 2020
P.s. per chi non ci avesse fatto caso il libro è in Inglese.