Dear Christopher Paolini,Â
I lived in a home with abuse. Lots of abuse. Hunger. Never being able to go to sleep without fear of being awoken and beaten in the middle of the night by a disturbed being known as my stepfather.Â
It was a cruel existence for me, years under his crushing rule. Beaten within inches of losing my sanity. This man came up with all sorts of sick and twistedly cruel ways to cause excruciating pain to us. He was a true sadist. I can’t even begin to list all the awful things he did to me growing up.Â
I wasn’t allowed to watch TV. No video games. He believed they were demonic. Essentially, anything that brought us open joy was forbidden. The horrible moments I endured took me to dark places. But somehow maybe by fate, one day in a library, I noticed Eragon on a bookshelf. I opened its pages... and thank God I did.Â
I was immediately swallowed by a world of adventure, a world filled with people who sucked me away from my own reality and let me live through the eyes of someone else. I felt every emotion, joy, sadness, anger. I smiled uncontrollably while reading, and I rarely had reason to smile before. The amount of times I cried through those stories... I loved all of it. I needed it.Â
To hide the abuse, my stepfather forced us to be "homeschooled," pulling us from public school because he felt the system invaded his privacy. So even through my junior high years, I was separated from peers. I had little in the way of friends.Â
But I had Eragon, Saphira, Murtagh... and Arya. They became the people in my life. I romanticized Eragon and Arya, imagining her as the most beautiful and stunning creature ever dreamed up. I followed them through every experience, living through their eyes. But eventually, I ran dry. Their story hadn’t concluded yet, and you were still working on the fourth and final book. So... I reread the series again. And again. And again. Like a madman, I read the first three books 13 consecutive times. It was all I had.Â
Then came my 17th birthday. My mother did her best with me and knew how much I loved those books. She decided the throw me a small surprise birthday with some family and my best friend Robert while my stepfather was at work.. At that time, Inheritance was already available, but every library I contacted was still without it. I called many libraries regularly throughout the county. Inheritance was not yet available at the library, and it grieved me so much.Â
But on the day of my birthday, I opened some gifts from my best friend, Robert. He also knew my love for these books. To my absolute joy, I received my own copies of Eragon, Eldest, and Brisingr! I now had my very own copies! I was beyond pleased. But my mother had one gift yet to give me. The room was silent. Somehow, I felt everyone knew this was the big one. I truly had no idea what to expect. It was a gift bag packed with stuffing paper inside. I removed it... and my eyes fell upon something that hit me in the stomach.Â
My mind broke loose. I struggled to control the tears that screamed to be released. I lifted out a pristine, gorgeous, beautiful green hardback copy of Inheritance. The final book. It was in my hands. My reaction did not go unnoticed, the room responded with smiles and expressions hidden behind hands cupped over faces. This gift overwhelmed me. One beyond words. Oh, how I craved to read it.Â
I turned the pages. I poured over them, getting little sleep at night as I wrapped myself in the warm blanket of their adventures once again with Eragon and Arya. But a pit began to form in my stomach as I approached the final pages. I knew this time... this time, when I turned the last page—when my eyes rested upon the words THE END, that it would be over. For good. And soon, the inevitable came. I was consuming the final pages, emotions climbing higher and higher unbound, unrestrained. I felt it. The revelation of the story’s conclusion rocked me in a way words can’t fully describe.Â
The tears fell, unrestrained. No level of will or effort could stop them. I cried. Oh, how I cried. I screamed into my pillow. I cried until exhaustion finally drove me to sleep. When I awoke, all I could do was sit in silence coping, I re-read the last pages over and over again. I even remembered Eragon's dream predicting the book's ending in the first book. It... was... over. And my soul wasn’t ready for it.Â
Now, 13 years later, I see AlagaĂ«sia coming to life again—new stories, new attention, and a new spark. I’ve been feeling emotionally drained lately, and I decided it was time to revisit my old friends in AlagaĂ«sia. And while this return has warmed my soul in ways I can’t fully explain, it has also stirred up deep, buried grief.Â
The books remind me of the pain I was escaping from back then, and I've found myself emotionally compromised all over again—grappling with the boy I was, and the man I’ve become.Â
But I want you to know this, Christopher: Your books did more than entertain me—they saved me. They gave me something beautiful to hold on to when I had nothing else. They gave me a reason to smile, to cry, to feel. They became a part of my identity. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Thank you for giving me something to cling to when the world gave me nothing.Â