Twelve years ago, as a wee high school freshman, I read the books “Eragon” and “Eldest.” “Eldest” had just been released a few months prior. One of my family members gave me the hardcovers for Christmas, thinking I would like them. I was hooked.
We’re outside the Eragon zeitgesit now, the prime dragons of modern pop culture being Daenerys Targaryen’s trio of terrifying tyrants instead of Eragon’s Saphira, but “Eragon” was the pre-social media young adult novel craze (non-Harry Potter category). “Eragon” sold a million copies within six months of Knopf’s wide-release publishing of the novel, the series going on to sell a few dozen million more worldwide in the following years. The film was a sad flop, but it existed in the first place, and it still made a bunch of money.
In many ways, Eragon was my Harry Potter. I remember checking fan boards and looking up theories and voting in polls on what we thought would happen. Two times I ravenously consumed the newly-released entry in the series. I began the first book while a freshman in high school, and I finished the last book a junior in college. Those intervening years were some of the most impactful of my life, and Inheritance was there with me the whole way.
Somehow, I’ve not re-read Inheritance, the last book in the series. And that means that I have never read them all the way through, from “Eragon” to “Inheritance,” without years or months of distance between them.
This summer will change that. After almost six years since I last touched the series, I’m now in the process of reading them all once more, together for the first time. In those years, I’ve become a significantly better writer and have read many more books. I’m excited to read them in a different light, and to see if what I remember about the books still rings true.
But mostly, I’m interested in spending more time with Eragon, Saphira, and friends. It’s been too long.