Eragon by Christopher Paolini

I found this book laying around my parent’s house. Knowing that it was made into a movie, I decided to give it a read. Boy was I disappointed.

This unoriginal, amateurishly written tale was so dreadfully unmoving that I cringe at the fact that Hollywood even thought about turning this into a movie. It baffles me that this author is still a teenager and managed to have more success than 99% of the writers out there, most of which are drastically better composers than Christopher. I will give him credit for finishing the novel; no small feat considering the only thing worse than reading this garbage would be to actually write it and be proud enough to submit it to publishers. The Universal laws of statistics say that some unworthy person will win the lottery, some bland actor will become a star, some unlettered student will receive an ‘A’, and some juvenile writer will sell books. Christopher Paolini is the latter.

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