In no particular order, here are the similes and metaphors that I thought were just too much. Notice how many of them had to do with stone, metal, or specific gemstones! Is Paolini obsessed with geology, or does he just have a very limited imagination when it comes to description? The world may never know!

• Helgrind, which loomed over the surrounding land like a black dagger thrust out from the bowels of the earth.

• Twin blades of steel winked like stars. . . .

• Moving from the mind of one living thing to another, like tendrils of water seeping through sand.

• They seemed cold and sharp, like bright shards of ice.

• The low mound of coals throbbed like the heart of some giant beast.

• The tip glittered like a shard of crystal, each scratch a thread of quicksilver in the bright light of dawn. [Nice observation when a sword is rushing at you, eh?]

• His final blow shattered the Ra'zac's carapace like the rind of a dry gourd.

• Like a mountain goat leaping from one ledge to another, Roran duplicated her ascent.

• Her scales sparkled like a multitude of brilliant blue diamonds.

• Then, his heart heavy as lead. . . .

• Where he hung unsupported, like a cloud drifting in the sky.

• Sloan weighed on his back like a pile of iron ingots.

• His vision darkened as if a cloud had covered the sun.

• Sloan still sat upright, rigid as cast iron. [Hey, Sloan gets compared to iron a LOT!]

• A flock of starlings darted across the afternoon sky, like fish through the ocean.

• Her tears appeared like rivers of silvered glass.

• Like a pale, sun-bleached pennant, the dry blade of grass hung from between Arya's left thumb and forefinger.

• Swift and lean as yellow-eyed mountain cats. [The elves being compared to mountain cats were not all yellow-eyed themselves, so . . . why?]

• Of all the men and women assembled before her, she was the most distinguished, like an emerald resting on a bed of brown autumn leaves.

• Illuminated the surface of Leona Lake so that the horizon became a rippling bar of gold.

• Toward the nest of ruby embers. . . .

• The merciless ruby glare. . . .

• A mare's tail of blood. . . .

• One dagger-sharp eyebrow. . . .

• Like a split in blue-gray granite, a wide grin spread across his jaw.

• Hundreds of conical helmets gleamed like polished silver. [Really? It's necessary to tell us that well-cared-for helmets propped up on their stands are gleaming "like polished silver"? As opposed to polished . . . whatever silver-colored metal they actually are? This is not necessary.]

• He is cunning like a blood-hungry weasel. [How cunning IS a blood-hungry weasel? Has anyone investigated this?]

• Red as a ruby dipped in blood, red as iron hot to forge, red as a burning ember of hate and anger. . . . [So . . . was it red? As red as HATE and stuff? Don't forget to dip red things in other red things so you can go off on how red they are!]

• Every muscle in his body as hard as iron. . . . [I doubt it.]

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