"The Paris Wife" and "Z- A novel of Zelda Fitzgerald"

As every good English major should, I love The Great Gatsby. Fitzgerald's astute assessment of destructive opulence, garish wealth, and where Gatsby's identity lies speaks truth to the culture of today, as well, and is just one of the reasons I love Gatsby. I re-read the novel during my finals week, and saw the new movie the night it was released; I discussed it with whoever I could. So when one of my best friends handed me a novel about Zelda Fitzgerald, F. Scott Fitzgerald's firecracker wife, I had already been primed to enjoy it.
Zelda and Scott Fitzgerald have always been a sensational couple. Depicted recently in Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris, and often in many other mediums, they are most likely one of literature's most well-known and famous pair, though not without fault. In Z: a novel of Zelda Fitzgerald, Therese Anne Fowler sifts through the gossip, infamous rumors, and endless speculation swirling around the Fitzgeralds to a Zelda who is at once fiery and sweet, believable and shocking. In short, the Zelda of myths and legends becomes a real woman, one whom you can both root for and see her faults. The novel traces Zelda's life with Scott, beginning when they meet for the first time and whirling through New York, Europe, Maryland, and Alabama. It's heartbreaking, really, to watch them play hard, party away their money, their health, and eventually, their relationship. Yet they remain married their whole lives, a highly unusual thing for the free-wheeling Parisian society they kept.

Just as in Midnight in Paris, one of my favorite movies, I love the circle of famous authors, all associating, feeding off of each other, and developing friendships together in Paris. Perhaps the most significant famous figure in Z (besides Gertrude Stein) is Ernest Hemingway. Zelda and Hemingway hated each other for varying reasons, but Hemingway's influence on Scott is a huge part of the novel, and of their time in Paris. I didn't like Hemingway from the beginning (though to be fair, I was biased: I read A Farewell to Arms years ago, and couldn't stand it): he is boorish, cocky, and rude, constantly needing to assert his manliness by boxing. Yet when I finished Z, I found myself continuing to think about those American expatriates in Paris. So I picked up The Paris Wife, by Paula McClain: a novel about Ernest Hemingway and Hadley Richardson, his first wife. From Chicago to Paris to Toronto and back to Europe, McClain follows plain, kind Hadley and the famous Ernest Hemingway through their five years of marriage, as well as Hemingway's transformation from aspiring writer to novelist with a cutthroat morality.
Both novels are beautifully written and skillfully researched- though both couples are so sensational, the authors had no need of making up anything exciting to happen to them! Interestingly, their stories are strikingly similar: the couples meeting and falling madly in love, both wives believing wholeheartedly in their husbands' career; both husbands moving to Paris and writing as though their life depended on it, all extravagant alcoholics and tireless partiers (at least at first), and eventually, both wives struggling to find their identity outside of their husbands.
Hadley especially struggles with this: she feels she was nothing special before Hemingway came along and believed in her. She finds her purpose in encouraging Hemingway's writing, centering her whole self-worth around being his support. Without her, he has his writing: in fact, his identity is solidly first a writer, sometimes a husband. But Hadley's is grounded in him; without him, she fades away, feels listless, purposeless. This inequality of their relationship cracks the very foundation of their marriage.
By contrast, Zelda feels overshadowed by Scott. A firecracker herself, Zelda paints, dances, writes, and sings by turn, making conquests and earning the admiration of their friends. She wants the spotlight for herself, and feels belittled as F. Scott Fitzgerald's wife. She wants freedom and independence, not to be tied to a child or keeping house or supporting her husband. She believes in her equality with Scott, and this attitude causes jealousy, tension, and danger in their marriage.
.One of the main examples of this is an almost identical scene in both books: when the couples go to visit Gertrude Stein, both Fitzgerald's and Hemingway's mentor. After dinner, the writer and Gertrude go off and talk business, while the wife is left with Gertrude's companion, Alice. Both Zelda and Hadley feel the difference of being left out of the conversation; but while Zelda feels she should rightly be in with Gertrude, talking about her own work, Hadley wonders at the brilliance of those around her and feels she doesn't belong.
Neither portrait of marriage is an effective one; the one rent by little to no self-worth, the other by excess of such. But their love for each other, when things are going well, is touching to see. I even found myself softening towards Hemingway, seeing the way he recognized the wonderful traits about Hadley that are so subtly and beautifully written by McClain.
Sadly, both couples are an example of the detrimental effects of careless, purposeless living. Zelda and Scott are constantly seeking fulfillment throughout the novel, and sadly are unable to reach that elusive ideal of perfect happiness. And though The Paris Wife is by a different author, it conveys the same type of couple, as Hemingway, and to some extent, Hadley, search for their purpose and their own fulfillment. All four of them try so many different routes: alcohol, money, success, fame, immortality in literature, and love; yet in the end, none of these things fulfill. None. Not even love. Both novels chronicle how "in love" these couples were; and they truly were. But what Hemingway, Hadley, Zelda, and Scott fail to understand is that love is an action, not an emotion; love is a chosen, deliberate response, rather than a feeling. When things feel difficult for Scott and Zelda, they separate and have other affairs; when Hemingway has an affair with Pauline Pfieffer, he cannot continue on in his guilt married to Hadley, so he divorces her. When the going gets tough, when arguments and difficulties arise, these two couples give up because they aren't feeling it anymore. They are looking for love to fulfill them, but the truth is, they're not even practicing real love; they're practicing selfish love.
As I learned this summer, love is beyond just a feeling: love is choosing to do what is best for the other person. Love is giving a child your pillow at 3 am because they're coughing. Love is talking to a kid who's upset about something instead of taking your break. Love is listening to a girl who has no one else who will listen, even though she's difficult and overwhelming you with her problems. Love is choosing what is best for your spouse instead of yourself. Love is choosing forgiveness, even for the unforgivable. Love is honoring the promises you've made to someone. And ultimately, love is sacrificing yourself for those you love. Love is God, God is love. These are unchangeable truths, ones that all these incredibly gifted and brilliant people never discovered- but oh, how their life would have changed if they had!

Kisses from Katie

I just spent a summer  serving on the staff at Summer's Best Two Weeks, a Christian sports camp in Pennsylvania- a summer where I cried often, prayed constantly, and experienced the joy of God in ways I never have before. I don't think I've ever been stretched so much or challenged physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually as I was this summer.
Strangely enough, the book Kisses from Katie came up in conversation from the moment I arrived at camp. Two girls in my Orientation cabin were reading it, and continued to discuss it throughout the summer. On a day off, my mom called and asked if I had read it, or if I had any desire to. And when I got into the car to drive back home, concluding my wonderful summer at the beautiful Lake Quemahoning, Kisses from Katie was lying on my seat. I picked it up and was instantly captivated. On one level, the author, Katie Davis, was eighteen when she left, not for college, but for Uganda, to serve as a kindergarten teacher in an orphanage there. She was a normal teenager from Tennessee, in the exact same position as I was a year ago, and felt God's call on her life to go to Uganda. So she did. At twenty, my age now, she had started a nonprofit organization called Amazima Ministries and adopted nine Ugandan girls as her own.
On another level, Katie ministers to everyone around her in the same way we are called to do at Summer's Best. Katie's whole mission in Uganda is to first and foremost, show the people Jesus's love, both through physical aid, affection, and radical kindness; secondly, to educate children and provide a way for them to go to school. Though SB2W doesn't sponsor children to go to school, the principles of ministry and loving kids for Jesus are the same. Katie's commitment to radical love, ready and willing to give everything she owned, everything she had to others in need, resonated with me deeply as I came out of a time in my life where I have tried to give everything I have, emotionally, physically, and spiritually like never before.
Fundamentally, Katie gets it: the best ministries are grounded in relationships. Her first goal is to love people with the love of Jesus, not in a condescending way but in a real, true way. As I found out very quickly at camp, my words would mean nothing to a camper until we had a relationship, an understanding that I loved and supported them. And my love was certainly not enough for them; I had to be filled with God's love often multiple times a day in order to love those kids well. In fact, every day for a week of the first month I was back, it was a nearly hourly struggle. I would pray constantly that God would fill me with love for my campers, since they were driving me up the wall! And though I laugh now at how frustrated I got with them, the truth is that by the end of every day (except one memorably disastrous night-time devotional), my heart was filled with love for them and I was teasing, giggling, playing with, and loving them genuinely. God's love is big enough; my own is not nearly sufficient.
Katie relates many stories of how God is working in Uganda, losing no opportunity to explain the lessons she finds in every story. Often, she admits that she was about to pass a hungry child by, to simply look away or continue with her business, not allowing herself to be interrupted. Yet the Holy Spirit persists, and when she follows His voice, the rewards are great. As I read this, I knew exactly what she was talking about. Even though our environments could not be more opposite, I have felt this same thing. In the past session of camp, I had many girls in my cabin who needed to know God's love; I felt the weighty importance of this from the instant I met them. Though it was my last term at camp and I was tired from a demanding previous term, I resolved to begin anew: I prayed God would give me the strength to give 100% for Him.
He began sending me opportunities left and right to talk to my girls one-on-one: I would often come upon them sitting alone and looking upset, walking in the back of a line, or on one memorable rafting trip, limping along in the back of the hike with me as I carried the med pack. Each time, I was in rare conversation with another counselor, taking a moment for myself with my friends. But the times when I chose to leave the easy conversation and go begin one with a camper, God blessed and brought about conversations that needed to happen, where He was glorified and hopefully explained well. Doing the selfish, lazy thing and not making the effort to be with a camper would have been easier, but I am so thankful I took those opportunities when I did.
Katie's story has inspired me as I leave a summer of ministry. She is my age, and her ministry requires more daily of her than I ever gave this summer. My ministry is not over; what I have learned at camp about denying myself and loving others for God doesn't only apply or "work" in the camp setting. And the "God First, Others Second, I'm Third" motto doesn't just apply at the BLQ (Beautiful Lake Quemahoning). As I head into my second year of college, I can't wait to approach everything from this perspective; to love people radically as only God can; to make the hard choices in doing that, and to follow His call on my life.

The Casual Vacancy

Whenever I mentioned I was reading J.K. Rowling's new book, I received the same response: "Oh, really? What do you think of it? I'll probably read it soon. I'm just waiting to hear what other people think of it."
Well, that's fine by me: I'll be the taste-tester for this book, letting you know if it's safe to read, if your image of J.K. Rowling will be marred and thus the foundation of your childhood ruined. I risked my own childhood to save everyone else's. So, is your childhood in jeopardy?
The truthful answer is, I don't know. This is a book so far removed from Harry Potter that no one would ever think to compare them, had they not been by the same author. The Casual Vacancy takes place in Pagford, a small town in England, just as Barry Fairbrother, a prominent member of the town Council, dies suddenly. This leaves his seat on the Council open, and sparks a vicious war within the town for Barry's seat: for Barry was a crucial supporter of the Fields, a rundown housing area full of drug addicts, prostitutes, criminals, and people living off of welfare. Whoever gets Barry's seat decides what happens to the Fields, a very controversial subject.
Before I begin, I should note that though this is a follow up novel to a hugely successful series, Rowling doesn't need to prove her immense skill as an author. I have no complaints about her writing or her extraordinary ability to draw vividly real, nuanced characters and real places. What I complain about in the novel takes for granted that Rowling is a good author; she even made me care about characters that in a less skillful author's hands I would have hated.
As can be expected, this plot leaves room for lots of social commentary and lots of character development. Yet as each character was introduced, I found myself feeling more and more discouraged. Almost none of the people of Pagford are likeable; all are viciously cruel to each other in one way or another, with little to no redeeming qualities. Actually, it seems that the only good person in the town was Barry Fairbrother, and I found myself wishing he were back so that things weren't quite so miserable. And from the beginning, the book is gratuitously crude, littered with profanities, and shockingly explicit, to the point where I wish I had not read some sections. It's marketed as "for adults" for a reason, and was very nearly a turn off for me. But I kept reading, determined to finish, slogging through pages and pages of cruelty and empty people, all desperate for something outside of their lives. In fact, in a New York Times Interview, J.K. Rowling said she called the novel The Casual Vacancy because she "was dealing with...a bunch of characters who all have these little vacancies in their lives, these emptinesses in their lives, that they're all filling in various ways." This quote, to me, absolutely sums up the novel and the characters, and exactly what is so frustrating about the novel: the characters are all empty.
About 200 pages in, I realized that I did, at least, care for some of them. Some I still couldn't understand, pardon, or excuse, but a few I felt pity for, rooted for, and even cried over. There's Krystal Weedon, a teenage girl from the Fields who's mother is a meth addict; there's Tessa Wall, guidance counselor, mother of Fats Wall and married to Cubby Wall, principle of the high school; there's Kay Bawden, a social worker who seems to actually care about the Weedons and who moved to Pagford for her boyfriend Gavin.
At this point, when people asked me what I thought of the book, I would respond: "I don't know yet. It depends on the ending." Because though the people of Pagford are all a mess, the novel was perhaps meant to be first and foremost a vehicle for social commentary, and whatever statement she left us with in the end would be the most important. It might make all the misery worth it, or show some glimmer of hope. I thought up an acceptable ending in my mind, yet as the amount of pages left grew fewer and fewer, I worried at what could be accomplished.
The ending is unexpected, explosive, and tragic- nothing like what I expected. Surprisingly, I cried- I must have cared about the characters more than I thought. But what is so interesting to me is that Barry Fairbrother's death, which supposedly was supposed to make everyone realize what was important in life and what he stood for, instead results in complete chaos and not much resolution of opinions on the Fields. For all that the last few pages try to offer some glimpses of hope for the future, there is very little resolution for many of the characters of any of their problems.
Essentially, through the ending, Rowling issues a dark warning about the future of the welfare system in Britain, and a lot of social commentary on social apathy without offering many solutions. People are exposed as hypocritical, apathetic, and self-absorbed, and remain that way throughout the novel. There is no transformation or change that occurs in people, which almost means there is no story arc. To me, this lack of a solution or lack of hope at the ending was uncharacteristic. Though their novels may be entirely different, a good author's worldview and moral ideology should remain constant throughout their works. Despite their incomparability of plot and characters, we as readers should be able to point to the same triumph of good over bad, the same idea of the power of love, in both Harry Potter and The Casual Vacancy. But I can't.
And that's why I'm unsatisfied with The Casual Vacancy. Because though it's well written and the characters are well drawn, and though it tackles important social issues, it fails to offer us the same sort of solution or messages that make Harry Potter so important. I think that Rowling is still finding her own opinions on the subject, and it shows in the inconsistency of her writing. But do I completely discourage it? Will your childhood be poisoned? I don't think so. I think it's worth reading to understand the bleakness of life without hope, and then to think afterwards of how that might be changed. Just because Rowling doesn't offer a solution doesn't mean we can't come up with one on our own.

Anna Karenina

I am a firm believer in the transcience of books; in the fact that every reader brings their individual experiences to the same words, and leaves with a different outcome, different interpretation, formed from the collision of the unchanging work and their forever changing self. In light of certain events in my life, certain pending transitions, and certain conversations that have been taking place in my final year of high school, never before have I felt that my experiences have shaped my reading of a book more than with Anna Karenina. In some ways, it was irrational: I pitied the people who were not to be pitied because I identified with their position; I loved some of the imperfect characters because their flaws and doubts reminded me strongly of people in my life. Anna Karenina is a character-driven novel, and it speaks to the genius of Tolstoy that each of the characters is neither good nor bad, but a true person. There aren't "good guys" and "bad guys" in this novel, but rather broken people attempting to make sense of their choices. And ultimately, it was a very emotional read for me.
There are two main characters, two main plot arcs: that of Anna Karenina, and that of Levin, a man heavily based off of Tolstoy himself. Anna is a charming woman, widely respected, married to a high government official with a young son; Levin is an idealistic young man from the country, struggling with his theories on society and the meaning of life. Though they do not meet until the final pages of the novel, and then only briefly, their paths are wound together through numerous common friends and family, who are significant in both lives. Their lives are opposites: Anna's is a degenerative love story, a tragedy of choices as she begins an affair with the charming Count Vronsky; Levin's is a steady upward spiral, as he finds wedded bliss and ultimately achieves spiritual certainty. The juxtaposition and yet similarity of their positions throughout the novel, especially at the end, speak powerfully of the choices we have available to us in life.
To attempt to analyze Anna Karenina in depth on my part would be prideful and unsuccessful- this novel literally deals with the meaning of life, death, faith, and love, in very forcible ways, and my feeble analysis would only serve to embarass me. Instead, I'll comment on a few things that struck me about the novel.
I once went to a talk on C.S.Lewis given by a Wheaton professor, who asked if anyone had read Till We Have Faces, in which Lewis writes from the perspective of a woman, and said he felt Lewis did an extraordinary job giving his readers insight into the woman's mind. I personally didn't think Lewis' portrayal of a woman was so extraordinary, but it was an interesting thought to me. I was strongly reminded of this moment while reading Anna Karenina, but this time, I simply felt awe at the way Tolstoy seemed to know the inner workings of a woman's mind. Anna becomes jealous of Vronsky halfway through their relationship, thinking constantly that he must be in love with another woman. Though her thoughts are irrational, I could absolutely see myself thinking similar thoughts in that situation. Tolstoy masterfully draws Anna's tragic descent into jealousy in a way that was completely identifiable to me. Anna and Vronsky's relationship is psychologically fascinating to me and displays Tolstoy's piercing insight into human nature. He understands what motivates men and women, and what sort of strain certain events have on a relationship.
Anna herself is bewitching to all she meets in the beginning. And after seeing the effects of her choices, Anna loves Vronsky with a selfish love- a love too mixed with lust, and a love that benefits no one but herself, and even herself only temporarily. Tolstoy calls into question the assumption that love can conquer all, and instead shows that love isn't always sufficient. Sometimes, choosing to do the right thing for those around you and denying yourself love will bring you more happiness than choosing love for one over all morals, honor, and other people. Did Anna truly love Vronsky? Yes, I think so- but their love wasn't enough to satisfy their life. Juxtaposed against Vronsky and Anna, living only for their love for each other, is Levin, who happily marries Kitty and still wrestles with theological questions, attempting to do good in his community and feeling frustrated at the sense of emptiness he feels. Levin's marriage to Kitty doesn't complete him, nor does he expect it to; instead, his greater sense of purpose is fulfilled at the time of his spiritual awakening. Essentially, the point is this: life is more than love.
Tolstoy brings Anna and Vronsky's love full circle in an extremely poignant way, as he deals with their search for meaning in life. Anna Karenina is a very long novel, but you cannot make a judgment call on it until you finish both Levin and Anna's stories; for both conclude in a very final way, in ways that make powerful statements about each story. Tolstoy's meaning comes across fully at the completion of the narrative, but not until then. That's part of why it's such a struggle to blog about this book without spoiling anything.
If I were to go back and read Anna Karenina later on in life, I'm sure I would sympathize with entirely different characters, and for different reasons. But the characters are vibrant and real enough that it would be feasible to do this, again shaped by my own experiences. And this is a book that needs to be reread and reread, and each time more meaning found in it. There are so many themes, so many deep thoughts communicated in masterful ways, that I really just need to sit down and write an essay about this book. I can't wait to return to Anna Karenina in a few years and reread it from a different perspective, and maybe then I'll write my essay. But the overwhelming amount of wisdom in this book cannot be grasped in only one sitting.
Obviously, this blog post is much more scattered and less conclusive than any of my other posts; partly because I haven't written in such a long time, and partially because this book is a lot to tackle in a simple blog post. Hopefully there will be more posts in the future more cohesive than this one!

Endings: The Falls Church

     As a graduating senior, many chapters in my life are closing: my four years at Woodson High School, living with my family, attending Cornerstone. So in a way, saying goodbye to The Falls Church feels natural: the church that has been home as long as the house on Colt Lane.      The church holds countless memories for me; they collect like dust in the corners and on the mantles, residues of me proclaiming: I was here, I was here, I was here.
     Here I am in kindergarten, sitting in a plastic chair, a two year old on my lap, listening to my parents teach Sunday School. Here I am in first grade, cross-legged on the floor of the Fellowship Hall, giggling as I watch the daily puppet show of the summer day camp. Here I am in fourth grade, carrying my lunch box to the bins marked with each squad number, ready to start another day at Summer's Best Two Weeks Camp. Here I am in fifth grade, crouched in the library book return cart, suppressing giggles as I wait to startle passerby. Here I am in sixth grade, sitting on the hard floor of Southgate with only two other friends in Crossroads. Here I am in seventh grade, washing cars enthusiastically in the upper parking lot, singing and dancing to the music blasting over the speakers. Here I am in eighth grade, crouched around the tiny small group table made for the 4 year old classroom, talking with my small group leader and the three or four other girls.  Here I am in ninth grade, sitting in the back row of the sanctuary with my friends, taking notes and passing notes. Here I am in tenth grade, rushing into the sanctuary to the cue of harp music as the angel Gabriel, late for my scene. Here I am the Labor Day before my junior year began, speaking to the church about God's call on my life before a very difficult year began.
     Now, here I am my senior year, walking out of the brick building for the last time, turning back to look at the rounded, arching bricks just faintly lit by a tiny orange glow from the inside, barely penetrating into the blue darkness. The dusk falls on the church like a curtain, the quiet evening surrounds it, as I and other stragglers walk away from a service for the last time. Just hours ago, the church was brightly lit, filled to the brim with people rejoicing, singing, and looking forward to what God has for us next. Now, in the still night, the building stands still, resolute, unchanged, and yet no longer mine. I am sad, yes, a little. But I'm not leaving the church behind; I'm leaving the building.
     I played on the playground, both as a child and as a Sunday School assistant; I hid behind the potted plants in the very front of the sanctuary; I ate pizza in the modular, took pictures on the front lawn, had picnics in the shady area between the sanctuary and Nicholson, put on a Cornerstone Prom and transformed Nicholson Hall, stood in the darkness after Cornerstone with many friends, talking and laughing, cleaned Southgate during Fusion, had small group in the elevator, Prayer Chapel, library, and Treetop Room. I have lived in this building. And now, like so many other areas in my life, I am leaving this building for a period of uncertainty and change. But it's the natural way of life; we grow most in times of discomfort. And so I look forward to the growth to come, to the witness of The Falls Church Anglican, to relying wholly on God and not on familiarity for my spiritual growth. The time to come will be difficult, but it's an exciting beginning.

Game of Thrones

I don't normally read really intense fantasy series; I'm pretty mainstream: Eragon is about as deep into fantasy as I get. So when my freshman year English teacher (and good friend) approached me with Game of Thrones, by George R.R. Martin, and said: "You have to read this," I was skeptical. I'd heard about it, but it seemed really confusing and intense, something only people with a lot of time to obsess over something got into, and altogether odd. But in a lull between books, I found myself picking up The Game of Thrones.

As always, boy was I wrong about this series. All I can say without spoiling the plot is that the book revolves around a fantasy world, and the fight for the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms between several great houses and families: key players include the Starks and the Lannisters. The story is told through alternating viewpoints of several different characters. And that is literally all I can say, because once the reader has figured that out for themselves, everything changes, alliances shift constantly, people die, kings die, and families are separated in a whirlwind of plots.

But the brilliant thing is, though daunted originally by the sheer number of characters, I am now fluent in Game of Thrones-lingo. I know who each person is, who each house is loyal to, where a certain character is at a given time. I actually care about every single character and every single plotline, which is saying something when there are around 7 at any given time! Martin excels at keeping every plot balanced and switches back and forth deftly, like an organ player on the pedals to create a hymn. And even more intricate than the plot are the characters themselves.

The characters are what truly make Game of Thrones. I have been completely immersed in Martin's fantasy world as I haven't been since Harry Potter, and I think it's due in large part to the reality of the characters. Though the cast is larger than in Harry Potter, every character is superbly drawn and characterized easily. Most importantly, there is no "good" or "evil" character (entirely). There are characters (Jaime Lannister!) who are thought to be evil from one perspective and then from another are shown in a more positive light. Essentially every character makes life-threatening, stupid mistakes and has a moment of good shine through. It's what makes the characters realistic- there aren't any archetypes. Martin pretty swiftly eliminated my idea of archetypes in the first book, and since then has kept me on my toes, guessing who will die (too many! and the wrong ones!) and who will make it. But what makes me most certain of the reality of the characters is how I can discuss them with my friends who are reading this book like our other friends. I can deplore so-and-so's action and cheer on another person; I can be frustrated with so-and-so for doing something stupid and mourning another's death. I can slip easily into Martin's world because I know the people so well, and I care about what happens to them, unfortunately for me in some cases.

Though it is an easier read (though not short! around 900 pages!!), deep undercurrents run through the story about the nature of good and evil, and if a man can be successful by following the rules. Morals, some characters believe, will only get you killed- it is the evil who violate contracts who live and gain power. Martin doesn't have a definite answer on this yet, as the series hasn't ended, but I'd be intrigued to know what he thinks. The issue is questioned almost with every character's move, but never fully concluded. It leaves food for thought, though: which characters do I hate? Which do I root for? Will anyone I root for be successful if they also have morals and follow the rules?

I'd like to think that you can be successful by following the rules, though I have a feeling that this isn't possible in Martin's world. However, Martin's world is defined by an important assumption: that "success" means winning the throne, winning battles, winning power. In reality, material success isn't the only attainable success- there is the success of helping another, of raising your children right, of doing justice for others. The series isn't finished yet (and I haven't finished reading it), but I can only hope that Martin acknowledges the existence of a different type of success; that power bought at any price is not the only thing worth attaining.

Inheritance

Finishing Inheritance felt like finishing a marathon: I have been reading the Inheritance Cycle by Christopher Paolini since elementary school. I actually went to the midnight release of one of the books: Eldest? Brisingr? I can't remember. Although actually, that's my problem with all of the books: I can't remember what happens in each of them, because the events and battles are so similar, they all blur together into one long, repetitive story. My friends and I used to joke that the series would never end, or by the time it did, we would have long lost interest. Yet, here I am, finishing the final book two weeks after it came out. I just had to. I had to finish out what I had started years ago. And I'm glad I did. To me, Inheritance rises above the previous volumes and their predictable plots to create what I now consider to be the best book of the series- until the last 100 pages.

Paolini originally intended the series to be a trilogy, but before Brisingr, the third book was released, he announced his intention to make it into a "cycle" of four books. He explained that he simply couldn't fit everything he needed to into a final third book. And thank goodness he didn't- Inheritance runs at 880 pages, Brisingr at 748. Too much.

But where the other books (especially Eldest) lagged, Inheritance keeps the plot snappy, with plenty of battles and interesting discoveries. It's due in part to the fact that the series is finishing, so things need to be revealed and wrapped up within the whole book. It's a welcome change from the dragging pace of the last books, and it definitely helped me to finish within a week of beginning.

Inheritance concludes the tale of Eragon and his dragon, Saphira, as they battle the evil emperor Gallbatorix with the rebel forces of the Varden, dwarves, and elves. Plenty happens in this book, and I can't really summarize without either giving things away or explaining the contents of the entire series to those who haven't read them. But suffice it to say the plot is everything a final book should be: epic and final.

I won't discuss specific plot points, though there were several sweet ones I would love to linger on. Instead, the thing that intrigued me most about this book was the ending. Gallbatorix is killed and the final battle ends with 100 pages left in the book; an unusual leftover amount. In the last 100 pages, Paolini attempts to show the "after" of the "happily ever after," something often left unexplained in many other fantasy novels. And he does a mixed job of it. Some of it feels unnecessary and boring, information the reader doesn't want to know. Other bits of it are interesting. But most striking is that these last 100 pages show that the focus of the novel was not on killing Gallbatorix, but rather on Eragon and Saphira. The decision they make in the last 100 pages about what to do with the rest of their lives as Rider and dragon is probably the best one, but I felt saddened and unsatisfied. It's not the ending everyone hoped for. It's not happy, it's not tragic, it's simply a different direction. I don't think the majority of the fan base is satisfied with the ending. Still, I give Paolini credit for attempting to be original in his conclusion of a series that has often been criticized as a knock-off Lord of the Rings.

I can remember feeling as though I had wasted my time at the end of Eldest, the second book in the series. But I'm glad that I stuck with these characters and the land of Alegaesia to the end, completing the cycle. It was an arduous journey, but in the end, a fun one.