Review: Hellboy Animated

Folklore and legend are rich with plenty of ghouls, gods and monsters that fit nicely into the “Hellboy” universe. And “Hellboy: Sword of Storms/Blood & Iron” deals with some of the supernatural nasties in a pair of animated spinoff adventures. These two stories are solid if not brilliant, and they have plenty of Hellboy quips, weird creatures, and a healthy splattering of gore, fire and magic.

In “Blood and Iron,” the BPRD is asked to investigate a haunted mansion, and Professor Broom insists that Liz, Hellboy, Abe and himself go on the mission. Though the hype-happy owner is only interested in using the investigation to make money, the place is really haunted — bluish ghosts drift around, statues weep, and a witches’ magic circle is on the floor.

It soon becomes obvious that a pair of harpy-witches are trying to resurrect the evil Erzsebet Ondrushko, a horrendous vampire who was abducting young girls so she could bathe in their blood. Decades ago, Professor Broom defeated her and seemingly killed her. Now with Abe captured by the hags, Liz and Broom are in a race against time to stop the vampire’s resurrection — and even if they succeed, there’s still their witch-goddess Hecate, whom Hellboy must somehow stop.

And in “Sword of Storms,” first the team ventures into a green, slimy, root-filled underground temple, where they must battle an ancient bat-deity and a small army of Aztec mummies. Then to the main plot — a history professor receives an ancient scroll that tells the story of the demonic brothers Thunder and Lightning, and a doomed love between a princess and a young samurai. And when the professor finds the samurai’s sword — surprise! — he gets possessed by the demons.

But when the BPRD is called in, Hellboy touches the sword as well — and is sucked into a bizarre otherworld full of monsters, ghosts and magical creatures. In the meantime, Abe and Liz are caught in a typhoon that strands them in the middle of nowhere — and it turns out that dragons are on the way. To save civilization, Hellboy must not only escape from the otherworld of Japenese legend, but also deal with the demons and ghosts….

“Hellboy: Sword of Storms” and “Hellboy: Blood and Iron” are somewhat different beasts from the movies made by Guillermo del Toro — they have some characters and plots that were from the original Mike Mignola comics, and the art is more reminiscent of those. They’re fun additions to the Hellboy mythos, but they do have some flaws in there (the pallid ghostly romance in “Sword of Storms,” which is utterly unegaging because we don’t know or care about these people).

They are also quite different from each other — “Sword of Storms” is a very straightforward and simple storyline that travels along two parallel paths, while “Blood and Iron” branches out into multiple storylines (and even goes backward!). And they have plenty of dark facets — gore, slime, thunderstorms, creepy forests, haunted mansions and the various monsters that arise, ranging from harpies to headless goblins. And the writers do a pretty good job adding in that little humorous edge to the stories as well (“He really likes cucumbers… WHAT IS YOUR NAME?!”).

Ron Perlman’s vocals make this Hellboy absolutely perfect — he’s sarcastic but good-hearted (“You’re lucky we let you be seen with us!”), practical, and usually ends up dealing with all the messy stuff. Doug Jones provides an intellectual slant as the resourceful, mellow fish-man Abe, and Selma Blair has a little trouble bringing the sharp-witted pyrokinetic Liz to life. And John Hurt gets to be the star of “Blood and Iron,” where Professor Broom comes face to face with an old nemesis.

“Hellboy: Sword of Storms/Blood and Iron” have a few flaws, but they are solid animated adventures with plenty of monsters and dark twists. Just remember: These are definitely not for kids.

Review: My Hero Academia, Vol. 1

In most superhero movies and fiction, people with exceptional powers are a tiny minority. But imagine for a second that there’s a world where superpowers – called “Quirks” – are a part of life for most of the population. What would it be like to be one of the minority who have no powers, and what would it be like if somehow that changed?

That’s the premise behind Kohei Horikoshi’s “My Hero Academia,” a vibrant and quick-paced manga series that takes place in just such a world, and which follows a steadfast underdog that wants nothing more than to save others. The first volume is still a little rough around the edges, but it overflows with energy, enthusiasm and raw potential, as well as some clever examinations of how such a society would work.

For his entire life, Izuku Midoriya idolized heroes. When he was small, he was found to be Quirkless in a world where the superpowers are commonplace. But rather than giving up, he dedicated himself to following and observing the superheroes – especially the beloved All Might, a seemingly invincible hero overflowing with positivity and heroism. And despite being bullied for his lack of a Quirk by his powerful classmate Katsuki Bakugō, he dreams of being a hero.

One day, he is saved by All Might and learns the superhero’s rather undignified personal secret. And after All Might witnesses the weak, Quirkless boy dash into danger to save his bully, he makes Izuku an offer: he will pass on his power to Izuku, allowing him to attend the hero-training U.A. High School. After months of training, of course. Can’t have a shonen series without training! But the training is only the first step — he has to get into UA, which involves a terrifying entrance exam, even as he tries to use a power he has only just obtained.

“My Hero Academia Volume 1” is entertaining in multiple ways. On the one hand, it’s a shonen manga in the classic mold, though it moves substantially faster than many of its brethren (the training begins and ends within one chapter). On the other hand, it’s also a rather quirky (pun intended) examination of the Japanese take on the superhero genre, with superpowers ranging from the ordinary (floating, explosions) to the more eccentric (belly-button laser, engine-powered legs).

The story whips by at a pretty fast pace, and things are kept energetic and colorful through the constant use of Quirks. But Horikoshi also doesn’t hesitate to pluck at the audience’s heartstrings whenever they have the chance, mostly focused on Izuku’s teary-eyed struggles to realize his dreams against all odds. At times, it’s really heartbreaking. Horikoshi’s artwork is still pretty rough here, with the characters’s expressions sometimes looking too cartoony, but he clearly has skill.

The character of Izuku reminds me a little of Marvel’s Captain America – he’s a weak, ordinary boy with a powerful, courageous heart and a real desire to save others, who is given superpowers artificially. He’s also shown to be quite bright, since he has to think strategically when “Kacchan” tries to actually harm him. The supporting cast is pretty likable but not very developed just yet – all we know of Katsuki is that he’s violent and almost pathologically proud, Uraraka is the perky and kind love interest, and Ida is dutiful, composed and extremely conscientious.

“My Hero Academia Volume 1” is a bold, colorful and energetic start to this entertaining series, and its likable protagonist makes it easy to get invested in his superheroic journey. Smash!

Artemiss Foul: A Rant

This movie is so bad, such a failure in every level of moviemaking, that I’m thinking about writing a review of it even though Amazon doesn’t have a whisper of a DVD/Blu-ray release. It is that bad.

It is so bad that when the trailer came out, I was aghast. I had not even read the first book in full, but I knew that this was an utter betrayal. My sister, who has only read the first CHAPTER of the first book, could see that it was a betrayal.

It’s a failure as an adaptation. They gutted it of the central premise that made it so unique and interesting, because Kenneth Branagh figured that kids couldn’t relate to a super-genius villain kid who doesn’t go to school.

Yo, Kenneth: lack of relatability is frequently a flaw in the audience, not in the character being adapted. If a person can’t relate to someone who isn’t exactly like them, then they’re not very imaginative and probably shouldn’t be watching a fantasy movie. If not going to an ordinary school somehow makes a child character unrelatable to real children, then they’re not going to be able to cope with ideas like fairy folk.

Except real children AREN’T like that — and I know this because quite a few of them read the books and had no trouble relating to Artemis, so I’m not just projecting my weird dark past-child self on the population at large. Because children are not dainty little angels who can’t comprehend things like greed, ruthlessness, anger and so on. They can comprehend why Artemis does things the way he does, even if they wouldn’t do it themselves.

And they LIKE the idea of a child criminal mastermind. They like seeing a kid being the haughty, smarter-than-everyone-else genius who can wrap even powerful fairies around his finger. They love that. The fact that he’s a criminal doesn’t matter to them — they love that he’s the smartest, which in the books is SHOWN rather than simply told to us.

And Branagh also gutted other parts of the story. In the book, Holly Short is the first and only woman in the LEPrecon force, and she has to fight against sexism and the heightened expectations that come with being a trailblazer. Does the movie show this to children? Nope! It decides to fill LEPrecon with female officers, because why show children that sexism is bad when you can just pretend it doesn’t exist?

Then they added the Aculos. What is the Aculos? It is a MacGuffin that serves to fix everything at the end, and nothing else. It was made up for this movie because Disney is stupid.

And there are a billion other changes that either don’t make sense or change things for the worse. Artemis’ mother being dead, because children are dainty angels who cannot cope with subplots about mental illness. Artemis just being told about the fairies instead of deducing it for himself. Cramming in Opal and other elements from the second book. Changing Artemis’ motivation from simple filthy lucre to “I must save my daddy!”

And for some reason, they decided to make the Eurasian Butler… the servant born to be a servant, from an ancient clan of servants… black. There is simply no way that that doesn’t look bad. Also, Butler is supposed to be a terrifying mountain of a man who can snap you in half with his bare hands, and the actor in the movie… looks kind of tubby. He’s not intimidating. And the blue contacts are very distracting; in some lights, they make him look blind.

They also decided, for no apparent reason, to have two different fairy characters talk like Christian Bale’s Batman. It sounds ridiculous, especially coming from Josh Gad’s Mulch Diggums, who looks like (to quote many reviews) a discount Hagrid and sounds like he’s about to tell us that he is the night. And Dame Judi Dench, for some reason, sounds like she smoked ALL the cigarettes and followed them up with a few gallons of whiskey.

Oh, and they removed God from the text of the Irish Blessing, because Mickey Mouse forbid we have even a hint of Christianity in anything. Feck you and your intolerance, Disney.

There was one thing… one thing in the entire movie that they kept, unadulterated and unalloyed. And it was the ONE thing that nobody actually wanted them to keep.

Did they somehow think that changing the very bedrock of the story was essential, but the one part that they COULDN’T change was having Mulch unhinge his jaw like a python and shoot dirt out of his ass? That was just ESSENTIAL. We can have a Artemis Fowl movie where the protagonist is an earnest good boy who surfs, but not have an Artemis Fowl movie where Mulch doesn’t poop large quantities of dirt while we sit there in agony.

Just… why? It was pretty gross and weird in the book, but it’s a thousand times worse when you actually see it in all its terrible CGI glory. Why? Why? Why?

Congratulations, Disney. First you absolutely molested A Wrinkle in Time (where they also erased any hint of Christianity), and now you’ve done even worse to Artemis Fowl. And the worst part is, you’re not going to learn a thing from those failures. You’re just going to conclude that the IPs are bad and unprofitable, rather than admitting that you screwed them up.

I’m going to get some sleep.

Brandon Sanderson’s Cosmere

https://botanicaxu.tumblr.com/post/138862187844/finished-nine-characters-from-eight-shardworlds

Brandon Sanderson is one of my favorite authors, partly because he can take a genre where most of the corners have been explored, and expands them with either amazing skill or brilliant new ideas. He also just executes these books with incredibly complex plotting, such as the Stormlight Archive series, which will apparently have ten enormous volumes (the fourth is currently available for preorder). Even this man’s unpublished books are better than most authors can manage (the original White Sand and Aether of Night, which you can obtain from his message board by request).

And he’s created his own interconnected universe known as the Cosmere, which links together most of his published work. Mostly this is through the concept of Shards, which are fragments of this universe’s murdered power of creation, Adonalsium. This fuels the magic of these different worlds, which comes out in different unpredictable ways – in some of them, you might turn into a living zombie, and in others you can “burn” metals that give you superpowers. This blanket mythology allows him to tell various stories with various types of magic, but allows him to interlink them so that they can have greater significance in the future.

To date there have been eleven books in the Cosmere, along with several novellas and short stories that you can find in the Arcanum Unbounded collection, and a graphic novel series. Which, by the way, I do not recommend reading in its entirety until you’ve read the novels.

If this sounds intimidating, it really isn’t. Some of these works can be read pretty much independently of their greater mythology, and then later works can give you an appreciation of the greater, more universe-spanning story being told here.

If you’re interested in checking it out, I’d recommend that newcomers to the Cosmere start out with Elantris, Warbreaker or the first Mistborn trilogy. White Sand, the graphic novel, is also a good starting point if you want to get into it via comics (although I do recommend the unpublished text, which has some notable differences and a cliffhanger ending). These books were my introduction to the Cosmere, and they are stories that can be appreciated on their own before you connect them to a larger story. Or you can just read them independently, and enjoy them independently. It’s your choice.

(Also, Elantris has some flaws – I’d rate it three stars out of five – because it was one of Sanderson’s early works, but the overall story is an engaging one. So if that one isn’t to your taste, I’d recommend checking out Warbreaker before coming to any conclusions)

Then, I’d recommend checking out the short stories and novellas such as Mistborn: Secret History, Allomancer Jak and the Pits of Eltania, Shadows for Silence in the Forests of Hell, The Emperor’s Soul and Sixth of the Dusk. You can find all these in the Arcanum Unbounded collection that I mentioned before, along with a Stormlight Archive novella that takes place after the second book. But obviously, don’t read that until you read the first two Stormlight Archive books. Then there is the second era of Mistborn, which takes up the next three books in a much later time period than the original – and unlike most epic fantasy, it actually has technological advancements!

If you have read the books/stories and like them, and want to see more, then check out… well, the Stormlight Archive. These books are absolutely massive – each one is like a brick made out of paper – but they don’t feel that way. Reading the first one actually flew by pretty quickly for me – it took longer for me to read The Great Gatsby. These are ones that are best appreciated when you’ve read Sanderson’s other works and understand the universe they exist in; they delve into the cosmology of the Cosmere and how things got to be the way they are.

And the Cosmere is still expanding: Sanderson will be releasing a new Stormlight Archive book this November, and a new Mistborn novel after that. Furthermore he has plans for a bunch of other books, including a sequel to Warbreaker, two more trilogies for Mistborn, two more Elantris books, more Stormlight Archive, and a prequel series that he’s planning after the Stormlight Archive has concluded. And who knows? He may get other ideas for novels, novellas or short stories along the way.

So if you want epic fantasy that doesn’t just copy Tolkien, Martin or one of the other big names, Sanderson is a good option (especially since the Mistborn trilogies advance technology over time, and one future one will be a space opera!). And I haven’t even gotten into his non-Cosmere stuff…

Where Susanna Clarke led me…

I am old enough to remember before Google effectively ran the universe and Wikipedia was the main source of information, meaning that by Internet standards, I am pretty much Methusaleh. I also remember when phones plugged into the wall. But that means that I remember the days before you could go into a rabbit hole of information that could lead you to strange new obsessions in a matter of minutes.

Which brings me to Susanna Clarke. If you haven’t heard of Susanna Clarke, she is the brilliant author of the fantasy known as Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, a story about feuding magicians in Regency England, with fairies and the Napoleonic War. If you haven’t read it, give it a try. It’s like if Jane Austen decided to collaborate with Diana Wynne-Jones – if that sounds good to you, you might enjoy it. Also, the miniseries the BBC adapted from it is quite good as well.

But that book is not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about Piranesi, her not-yet-released third book/second novel. The book is apparently about an infinitely large and complex house with an ocean within its walls, and it sounds like there may be something about parallel worlds or something like that. The summary is a little blurry, but that’s probably because it isn’t a “regular” fantasy novel, and there’s an element of mystery.

But I decided to google “Piranesi” to learn more. And lo and behold, I found very little information about the novel, and quite a bit about one Giambattista Piranesi, who lived in the 18th century.

Unlike some, I am not going to pretend that I knew all about Piranesi in order to sound more sophisticated. I freely admit that there are artistic spheres, genres and disciplines that I know virtually nothing about, because I either have very little interest in them or have not had the chance to study them extensively. Etchings are one of these areas.

But I really was swept away by Piranesi’s artwork.

I don’t know about Clarke’s creative process, because to my knowledge she does not have a website or social media. But I wonder if these etchings in some way inspired the novel Piranesi. Not necessarily in the sense of the plot, because as far as I can tell, Piranesi’s etchings don’t really have a “narrative” that you can discern…

… but more in the sense that some of these etchings give a sense of structures with immense space, age and complexity. Sometimes they feel downright fantastical or otherworldly. And that sounds like the aesthetic for the House in Piranesi.

So nothing too deep, just me sharing that I like Piranesi’s etchings, and I wonder if Clarke was inspired in some way by the aesthetic of his architectural studies.

Also, check out Piranesi when it comes out. And read Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. That’s all.

Review: The Betrothed

Kiera Cass began her publishing career with a dystopian series about a young woman’s part in seeking a royal’s hand in marriage. I guess now that dystopian sci-fi is no longer in vogue and high fantasy is popular in the young-adult market, she decided to tackle the same material in a high fantasy setting.

Unfortunately, the whole girl-in-the-running-to-marry-a-monarch story is much less compelling or unique when it takes place in a Generic Medieval Kingdom with a Generic Monarchy and a Generic Court. “The Betrothed” isn’t a bad novel in any way, but Cass simply doesn’t draw anything unusual, rich or nuanced out of her story. Every part of it is more or less predictable from the beginning.

Over the past year, young King Jameson has had flirtations with several young ladies, but has never shown serious intentions towards any of them. Hollis Brite initially believes she is just another one, but then Jameson starts showing interest in making her his queen. At first, Hollis is overjoyed – despite her controlling parents, this means she will be a vital figure in a kingdom known for powerful queens. Plus, Jameson is handsome, charming, and he dotes on her, so what downside is there?

But the pressures of royal life begin to weigh on her when the king and queen of neighboring Isolte come to visit, and Hollis begins to wonder if Jameson wants her to take an active role in the kingdom, or just be an ornamental bit of arm candy. She’s also developed an interest in Silas, an Isoltan nobleman who has… blue eyes. That’s about all that is memorable about him. But pursuing her heart has some unpleasant results for Hollis, and sets her on a path that she never imagined.

The biggest problem with “The Betrothed” is simply that it is so generic. The setting is a generic European country that you would find in any fairy tale, without any special cultural flourishes. The worldbuilding is not very rich or deep, and the court drama/machinations are pretty simple. The main story is essentially telling us that you should marry for love and not money/power, which is not a particularly unusual moral for this kind of romantic story. It’s the kind of thing you find in Disney stories.

Cass herself seems to realize that her book is pretty by-the-numbers late in the story, which is when she flips everything on its head and stuff gets dramatic and unconventional. It’s given some foreshadowing in advance, but it could have used some more – instead, a massive development sort of pops out of nowhere, and everything is left hanging on a precipice for what will presumably be a sequel.

Hollis is a pretty bland heroine. There’s nothing about her to explicitly dislike, but she seems very sheltered and kind of clueless about how royal life works. For instance, it comes as a massive shock to her when she discovers that Jameson is already making marriage arrangements for their not-yet-conceived children, which really feels like something she should already know if she’s in the nobility. We’re told how amusing and caring and charming she is, but only some of it filters through.

As for the other characters, few of them make much of an impression – most of them flit into the plot for awhile, then just sort of fade back out. Silas doesn’t have much chemistry with Hollis – as nice as it is to have a pleasant, non-threatening romantic lead, he really felt more like a friend than a lover.

And of course, Delia Grace. Delia Grace is, simply put, obnoxious – we’re assured that she has suffered extensive bullying at court, but that doesn’t really excuse her selfish, bratty, contemptuous behavior towards Hollis. Her jealousy doesn’t elicit sympathy for her life; it just makes me want her gone.

“The Betrothal” throws some curveballs in its final act, but everything that builds up to it is incredibly generic and by-the-numbers. Here’s hoping that Cass brings us something meatier for the sequel.

Review: Gravity Falls: The Complete Series

If Twin Peaks had been dreamed up by a ten-year-old on a massive sugar high, the result might be something like “Gravity Falls.”

And though this series lasted only a couple of seasons – both taking place in a single summer – it’s arguably one of the cleverest and most brilliant cartoon series ever to snare the imaginations of kids and adults alike. The weird occurrences are colorful and bizarre (“Onward, Aoshima!”), the characters are completely endearing, and the writing is tight as it winds together one-off strangenesses with some ongoing stories of mystery, magic and world-eating weird.

Twelve-year-old Dipper and Mabel Pines are spending the summer with their Grunkle Stan, an elderly con-man who runs the Mystery Shack, a ramshackle museum of bizarre, mostly fake items. However, Dipper is kind of worried about staying in Gravity Falls (his mosquito bites spell out BEWARB), until he finds finds a journal that reveals the many secrets of the town, but warns “in Gravity Falls, there is no one you can trust.”

Also, Mabel meets a strange, extremely-pale boy. She hopes he’s a Twilight-style vampire, but Dipper is afraid he’s a zombie. The truth… is a lot stranger than either theory.

This is only the beginning of the twins’ strange adventures – they face the legendary Gobblewonker, vengeful ghosts, a psychotic fake-psychic named Li’l Gideon, the secret fraud of the town’s founder, a time machine that Dipper tries to use to impress his crush, magical size-changing crystals, the Summerween Trickster, a boy band, a pterodactyl, a mini-golf course occupied by strange little creatures, Soos’ love life woes, a secret society that suppresses news of the supernatural, the Time Baby, alien tech, and many other crazy things.

And through these strange adventures, Dipper tries to uncover the mystery of who created the mysterious journal, and what happened to him – and discovers that it may be tied to Grunkle Stan in some way. He and Mabel also run afoul of a mischievous, devious creature (think a living Illuminati symbol) named Bill Cipher, who has plans for Gravity Falls that the twins must stop.

“Gravity Falls” is proof that just because a TV show is aimed at children, it doesn’t have to be stupid — codes and ciphers speckle the story, some of the stories can be horrifying or bittersweet, and it was obvious that series creator Alex Hirsch had mapped out complicated subplots and to-be-solved-mysteries from the very first episode onward. Pay close attention to everything as it unfolds, including the end credits of each episode.

Part of it is that the writing is really, really tight, with dialogue that is gloriously quotable (“I made this sculpture with my own two hands! It’s covered in my blood, sweat, tears, and other fluids!”) and a dry sense of humor that riddles almost every scene. Hirsch also has a talent for the bizarre, creating everything from hypermasculine minotaurs to a hallucination of a muscular-armed dolphin that spews rainbows from its many mouths. Nothing seems to be off-limits.

The characters are also delightful, endearing even when they aren’t admirable (“This seems like the kind of thing a responsible parent wouldn’t want you doing. Good thing I’m an uncle!”). Dipper is nervy and awkward, but also determined and dogged, while Mabel is a ball of sparkly whimsy and delight (“Are we in JAPAN?”). Also, she has a grappling hook and is perpetually on the hunt for a summer romance.

There’s also crusty old con-man Grunkle Stan, who is more than he seems to be; the endearingly hamster-like handyman Soos, who is more than a little strange himself (“Alas, twas naught but a dream”); and a colorful array of characters like Mabel’s friends, the crazed hillbilly Old Man McGucket, the Time Baby, a pair of government agents, and the nasty Li’l Gideon.

“Gravity Falls: The Complete Series” is a must-have for those who enjoy puzzles, clever writing, or just cartoon shows that might be even more delightful for adults than for their target audience. Onward, Aoshima!

A problem with the Inheritance series

I’ve been thinking about Christopher Paolini and the Inheritance series lately, and about the large quantities of virtual ink spilled over the years because of it. The series has a lot of problems with it – the derivative world-building, the Gary Stu protagonist, the clumsy insertion of the author’s views about things like vegetarianism, the screwed-up morality, the wildly unrealistic depictions of battle, and so on and so forth.

But I think a lot of the problems stem from the one thing: the author was growing up as he wrote the series.

In case you are unaware of this series, Christopher Paolini was a teenager when he wrote the book Eragon. He was initially self-published, but was almost immediately picked up by Knopf and became a bestselling author. Now, I am not saying that a young person cannot be a good writer. It doesn’t happen very often, as I’ve seen firsthand, but it can happen.

The problem is that if you read the Inheritance series, it becomes obvious that certain parts of Paolini’s beliefs, thoughts and behavior were… not set in stone. As a child, you more or less align with what your parents think and believe. When you’re a teenager, and sometimes even when you’re a twentysomething, you are figuring out what you think, how you see the world, and what you believe is right. Sometimes it ultimately aligns with what your parents think, and sometimes it doesn’t. The point is, those decisions and how you work them out are a part of growing up.

Take religion. The second book, Eldest, is extremely anti-religion, depicting the atheist elves as rational, intelligent and superior in every way, and the religious dwarves as overemotional unintelligent inferiors. Sort of like how many a douchebag atheist likes to depict the world, rather than how it actually is.

And then, at the beginning of the third book… he also features a chapter devoted to cannibalistic religious rituals that honestly feel like anti-Catholic propaganda by someone who doesn’t actually know anything about the religion.

And then… later in the book… Eragon encounters a god. It doesn’t make much of an impression, oddly.

And then in the fourth book, he sort of goes, “I dunno, maybe there are gods, but I’m so awesome and have so much power that I don’t need gods for anything, and obviously they don’t care about anyone anyway.” Which is really a very stupid and illogical perspective, especially written by a mere weak fleshy meatbag like the rest of us, but it demonstrates an evolution of thought over the course of the entire series and the better part of a decade. The perspective, which at least admits the possibility of gods, here is not the same as it was in Eldest. And while this conversation shows no deep or consistent theological musings, he still demonstrates more thought than he showed in Eldest, where the depth of his theological examinations was “LOL religious people suk and atheists are awesome.” At least he was answering points that actually sounded real, and didn’t do it in a condemnatory or bigoted manner.

Here’s another: vegetarianism. We return to Eldest once again, in which Eragon becomes a vegetarian when spending time with the Mary Sue elves. Because they’re elves, and everything they do, think and believe is absolutely perfect, and so on and so forth. This is depicted as the only moral way to live, and that animals should not suffer for human (or elf) consumption (despite Arya wearing leather clothes. Oops). I’m not going to get into a debate about the morality of eating animals, I’m just saying that this is what he presents as the unwavering moral thing to do.

And then… in Inheritance, Eragon starts being tempted by meat, and eventually he decides hey, if he’s offered meat socially, he’ll have a little, and that moderation is an acceptable way to live. After that, he starts eating meat again.

Again, it shows a change in perspective over several years, and it demonstrates that Paolini’s perspective wasn’t a particularly solid one. I’m not saying people older than their teens and early twenties can’t change their opinions or perspectives – far from it. I am saying that the time when Paolini wrote these books was a period when a person is still figuring themselves and their perspectives out.

And there are other things in the series that would point to the naiveté of youth and a lack of personal experience. For instance, the condemnation of the king levying taxes in the first book. Not excessive taxes, like in the Robin Hood folklore – just the fact that taxes exist at all. It’s very much a child’s understanding of how the world works, and it doesn’t do the book any favors to include such a childish perspective.

Simply put, Paolini was growing up and figuring himself out as he wrote these books. He would have been better served by waiting a decade before publishing anything.

For a comparison, let’s take George Lucas. When Lucas made the original Star Wars, he was considered a young bright star on the rise. But he was in his early thirties by then. He was a man. He had grown up completely. Hence why there isn’t a massive shift in perspectives over the course of the original trilogy. There are changes, such as the identity of Luke’s father, but those are more due to Lucas changing the story as he wrote it, rather than some kind of shift in the way he saw the world.

Anyway, since he has hopefully settled down in his opinions and viewpoints, I am going to give adult Paolini a chance to impress me with his new science fiction novel, To Sleep in a Sea of Stars. As long as there are no screeds against meat or religion, anyway.