RORAN
Oh, I'm sorry, did you think we were here to read about the protagonist? That would be silly; Eragon's not even in the title. No, we want to read about Roran walking around doing mundane tasks, like checking the burned-out husk of his former home for anything salvageable. He does this even though he knows full well that he's already picked the site clean, placing this scene right up there with people starting sentences with "As you know, Bob" for least plausible exposition device.
Roran clenched a fist, jaw muscles knotting painfully as he fought back a combination of rage and grief. He stayed rooted to the spot for many long minutes, trembling whenever a pleasant memory rushed through him. This place had been his entire life and more. It had been his past. . . and his future. His father, Garrow, once said, “The land is a special thing. Care for it, and it’ll care for you. Not many things will do that.” Roran had intended to do exactly that up until the moment his world was ruptured by a quiet message from Baldor.
Naturally, the destruction of his farm has had a profound effect on Roran; without a usable plot of land, his prospects have dwindled further, meaning that it will be even more difficult for him to create a reasonable environment for a hypothetical family. Paolini takes it a little too far, though, describing the way Roran's outlook has changed like it's removed limits on him as an individual, which, perhaps, but the way it's phrased, it's as if we're supposed to be glad Garrow's no longer holding him back.
It was as if bands had been cinched around his mind,
and those bands had snapped, allowing him to ponder ideas that were
previously unimaginable. Such as the fact that he might not become a
farmer, or that justice—the greatest standby in songs and legends—had
little hold in reality. At times these thoughts filled his consciousness
to the point where he could barely rise in the morning, feeling bloated with their heaviness.
As evidenced by how Eragon didn't even know how to read before traveling with Brom, Garrow was not much of a one for ideas. But, see, there's already a plot arc in this novel where a character is able to grow beyond the fetters their guardian would have placed on them, were he still alive. It even works better with Eragon because he's an adopted nephew and therefore more likely to rebel against his uncle's perceptions than a dutiful son would. Basically, I'm not pleased that Paolini is seeing fit to dip again into this well.
Anyway, Roran heads back, having done nothing with his time but stare and mope at his lost house -- he didn't even try to pick around for anything. As he walks, he reflects on the letter that Brom hastily wrote him before he and Eragon vamoosed. Roran is smart enough to have put two and two together, and figures that the stone's absence, coupled with the razing of his farm and Eragon fleeing, means that his cousin must have gotten his hands on something valuable.
For that alone, he blamed Garrow’s death on Eragon, though not in anger; he knew that Eragon had intended no harm. No, what roused his fury was that Eragon had left Garrow unburied and fled Palancar Valley, abandoning his responsibilities to gallop off with the old storyteller on some harebrained journey. How could Eragon have so little regard for those left behind? Did he run because he felt guilty? Afraid? Did Brom mislead him with wild tales of adventure? And why would Eragon listen to such things at a time like that?
Roran's anger is also tempered by worry, since he has no idea if Eragon's still alive or not. He doesn't have any patience or sympathy for Brom, though. Granted, Brom's letter was almost certainly full of things that would sound utterly insane to a normal guy like Roran, especially since Brom had that irritating Obi-Wan Kenobi habit of obfuscating information, then obfuscating more information, until you're just left with this obfuscation onion that, to an outsider, just looks like a rutabaga of crazy.
So, more exposition, but before that can happen, Roran has to notice a group of deer.
He made sure to note their location so he could find them tomorrow. He was proud that he could hunt well enough to support himself in Horst’s house, though he had never been as skilled as Eragon.
Because we should never forget who the main Mary Sue is, and we very well might, with the way that Roran's characterization is progressing. But, anyway, I mentioned exposition. Basically, Roran ditched his job to run home and bury his father. I guess his boss must have been a huge dick about needing to deal with family tragedy, because Roran's now working for Horst, one of the nicer Carvahall guys spotlighted last book. His endgame is still to marry Katrina, but now that he's actually poor and homeless, he kind of can't. Part of it's pride, part of it's that her father hates his guts, and it all adds up to him not being able to do anything because this is a patriarchy and Sloan owns her ass and saying anything different will turn the village against the both of them.
Considering the situation, it seemed to Roran that the only option available to him was to rebuild his farm, even if he had to raise the house and barn himself. It would be hard, starting from nothing, but once his position was secured, he could approach Sloan with his head held high. Next spring is the soonest we might talk, thought Roran, grimacing. He knew Katrina would wait—for a time, at least.
So, yeah, it's mostly a matter of man-pride, but, whatever, makes sense given the setting and Roran's previously established characterization -- the whole point of working in a different town was so that he could make enough money for them to live in relative comfort from the outset. (Which just makes me wonder why he doesn't go back to working at that job, except that I suppose he has to stay in Carvahall to raise the farm again.) Anyway, he goes home, and there's some flavor text about the setting, which is acceptable, but then I read this sentence:
Behind Carvahall, the halfmile-high Igualda Falls gleamed in the sunset as it tumbled down the Spine into the Anora.
First of all, that makes it basically the same height as Angel Falls, the world's highest waterfall, which seems incongruous given the stated Rockies-esque terrain of the Spine, but I could be wrong. Second of all, and much more importantly, remember how Sloan's all sensitive about the Spine? The reason's because his wife went over those falls. To her death. If the mere mention of the mountains is enough to set Sloan off, then why is he still living within sight of the thing that killed his wife?
But, whatever, Roran gets home and sees Horst chatting with Elain, his wife who is nearly five months pregnant, a detail that will be decidedly relevant in the near future. They're talking to their grown sons, Baldor and Albreich, about some petty village dispute, which is fairly boring, and about the state of Roran's land, which is also boring. Roran invites Baldor to go hunting with him the next day, and Baldor says yes, and I'm still bored, so Roran then goes out to enjoy the twilight hours and notices some hubbub outside the local pub because some trapper has dropped by and is telling stories, and I'm going to quote him in full because you should understand what I'm suffering through because OHGOD THE RAMBLING.
“After a few steins of ale—to lubricate my speaking, you understand, after a ’alf year with nary a word uttered, except perhaps for blaspheming the world and all beyond when losing a bear-biter—I come to Neil, the froth still fresh on my beard, and start exchanging gossip. As our transaction proceeds, I ask him all gregarious-like, what news of the Empire or the king—may he rot with gangrene and trench mouth. Was anyone born or died or banished that I should know of? And then guess what? Neil leaned forward, going all serious ’bout the mouth, and said that word is going around, there is, from Dras-Leona and Gil’ead of strange happenings here, there, and everywhere in Alagaësia. The Urgals have fair disappeared from civilized lands, and good riddance, but not one man can tell why or where. ’Alf the trade in the Empire has dried up as a result of raids and attacks and, from what I heard, it isn’t the work of mere brigands, for the attacks are too widespread, too calculated. No goods are stolen, only burned or soiled. But that’s not the end of it, oh no, not by the tip of your blessed grandmother’s whiskers.”
Okay, for one thing, if the Varden is supposed to be at fault for that, then the Varden are really stupid because they could, you know, use those supplies. Granted, it might be magic-users sending magical hate from afar, but still. I was under the impression that excessive taxes are resented because it's perceived as government wastefulness, so this doesn't really seem like a good response. It seems like a punishment to the hordes of innocents who happen to be under the thumb of Galbatorix.
Anyway, the trapper also rambles about some rumors about the presence of a Shade, because the reader may have forgotten what a Shade is, and then that the armies are on the move, possibly to put a good stomping on the resistance nation of Surda. (Surda is to the south, but you probably knew that because Paolini is not a fan of subtlety.)
Roran proves himself to be a true Garrowsson by being decidedly skeptical about the Shade reports, but he does find the whole Surdan conflict plausible. Then, the trapper offers his last, juiciest bit of gossip:
“What’s more, there have even been tales of.. ” Here
the trapper paused and, with a knowing expression, tapped the side of
his nose with his forefinger. “Tales of a new Rider in Alagaësia.”
Unsurprisingly, everyone sporfles at this, including Roran and even the trapper, because silly rabbit, believing in Dragon Riders is for kids! Obviously. Since such nonsense is generally indicative of a storyteller being out of useful gossip, Roran prepares to head out, but suddenly there is a Katrina, so he decides to go out and be appreciative of the night sky instead. (Not even a euphemism; there's a paragraph dedicated to how pretty the heavens are.) He tells her about his day, which expands to telling her that he's settled on trying to farm again. Katrina then asks what that means for her.
He hesitated. From the moment he began to court her,
an unspoken assumption that they would marry had existed between them.
There had been no need to discuss his intentions; they were as plain as
the day was long, and so her question unsettled him. It also felt
improper to address the issue in such an open manner when he was not
ready to tender an offer. It was his place to make the overtures—first
to Sloan and then to Katrina—not hers. Still, he had to deal with her
concern now that it had been expressed.
I get that Paolini is trying to project a more medieval culture, but this doesn't strike me as plausible. Sure, people were supposed to behave in this way, but I have trouble believing that they never once discussed getting married. I mean, he left town for months on end! Surely he communicated to her that it was so they could get married; otherwise, I'd expect her to have moved on.
If this is true though, and I suppose we have to assume it is, given that the narration said it was so, then this speaks to an uncomfortable degree of presumption on Roran's part, and by extension Paolini's. Notice how the quoted passage only talks about his intentions and his moves. I realize that this is narration filtered through Roran's perspective, but there's nothing here that specifically indicates that Katrina reciprocated these feelings to anywhere near the same degree. That's creepy. Once again, people don't work that way.
Bleh, anyway. So, he explains to her that they need to wait for him to actually have prospects so Sloan won't laugh him out of town for trying to take his daughter with no proof of ability to support her, and he actually sounds reasonable, which is unexpected.
Unfortunately, this turns out to be so that Katrina can be both unreasonable and manipulative, and it plays out as a series of some of the ugliest ploys in a girlfriend's arsenal. First, she does the thing where she refuses to look at him and mumbles something. Then, when he asks her what she said, she insults his manliness -- which she and the reader know is one of the things he most values -- by suggesting that he's afraid of her dad. And then when he denies this, she pulls an ultimatum out of nowhere:
“Then you must get his permission, tomorrow, and set the engagement.
Make him understand that, though you have nothing now, you will give me a
good home and be a son-in-law he can be proud of. There’s no reason we
should waste our years living apart when we feel like this.”
Roran immediately points out that the whole part where he has nothing is actually fairly significant, but she refuses to listen and proceeds to make the ultimatum even worse.
“Don’t you understand?” She stepped away, her voice strained with
urgency. “I love you, Roran, and I want to be with you, but Father has
other plans for me. There are far more eligible men than you, and the
longer you delay, the more he presses me to consent to a match of which
he approves. He fears I will become an old maid, and I fear that too. I
have only so much time or choice in Carvahall. . If I must take another,
I will.”
This is ugly and I hate it. The "do this or you don't love me" ploy is shallow and ugly, and moreover, doesn't even make sense in this situation! She's asking him out of nowhere to do the impossible. I realize that she got basically zero development in the last book, but it still feels like this is going against her characterization. The sort of girl who is willing to wait for you as you go to a different town in an era without internet or phones or reliable mail or literacy is NOT going to be this girl.
Also, her argument about being an old maid is stupid and Paolini is stupid for putting it in her mouth. You worry about being an old maid when no one asks you to marry them, not when they just need time to pull their resources together.
Now, I will admit that I might have personal reasons for hating this sort of attitude, but that's probably because I've got experience with an analogous situation. Paolini clearly did not, and it shows in how this scene plays out. It's no wonder that the chapter ends with Roran slumping off to bed with no idea what the hell just happened to his life or how to deal with it, because this scene made no sense. Ugh.
No comments:
Post a Comment