Just finished reading Paolini's Inheritance. I am impressed. Helps that I've always been willing to overlook a perceived lack of originality, verbosity, and dragons.

Maturity is a massive theme in Book 4. Not just Eragon et al, but Paolini as well. Inheritance isn't as fresh and reckless as Eragon, it's far less idealistic than Eldest and less self-indulgent than Brisingr. I'm not completely happy with the ending (leaving forever to be a monk and raise dragons? Couldn't he eventually return? He's immortal! What about allotting work to the future riders?).

Murtagh remains my favourite character. It's so nice to see him again, especially in-character. I thought he was going to die but was pleasantly surprised when redemption did not equal death. 

WHAT IS UP WITH THAT ANGELA CHARACTER.

I was very impressed and satisfied with the conclusion of his "epic romance with a woman of noble birth and heritage" as fortold in Book 1. Is it still an epic romance if not much happens, even when they get drunk together? If it is, then despite everything, it is one of the most realistic love subplot stories I've ever read. Again that's because of Eragon's maturation as a character, going from awestruck teenager to swooning, angst-ridden idiot to the logical, inevitable conclusion. One of the ending scenes - where he shows her the portrait on a slate - it was a great scene, it was beautiful, it was relatively restrained, it was wonderful. Same goes for the whole ending, though it stretched on for nearly too long.

At it's worst, Inheritance is no worse than mediocre and a little bit eyebrow-raising (Indiana Jones death traps? Killing Galbatorix with the power of heart?) but at it's best, it's the very best that purpled prose fantasy has to offer. This, like Brisingr, deserves a few rereads due to being just so damn long. 
The longer I put off studying the lower my quiz mark tomorrow will be. And the more embarrassing the articles I end up writing will be. 

In the same vein as fairths above, this paragraph keeps rolling towards the forefront of my mind. If I ever mention not being to unsee something pleasant, yet the state of being unable to see it is preferable to being able to see it, no matter how pleasant it is, I'm probably thinking of this: 

The pain of that realization rolled through Qui-Gon, an unstoppable tidal wave, the awareness of an innocence lost. What had been a closed bud within him had burst into full flower and could never again return to its former shape. 

And maybe one more thing? 

No, I don't think so. Best to reserve judgement until later.