Can You Describe Cressida Cowell's Writing Style? (And Try To Convince Me To Start Reading Httyd Books

Can you describe Cressida Cowell's writing style? (And try to convince me to start reading httyd books while you're at it)

Oh my goodness, I am *SO* excited to talk about Cowell’s writing style!

I realized my FAQ page was outdated with a broken link (whoops!), so I’ve fixed that! If you haven’t check that page out or my up-to-date #faq tag, I’ve written many responses on why I recommend the HTTYD books. Obviously those posts aren’t focused on Cowell’s writing style, as you’re curious about. Nevertheless, since you’re interested in recommendations and perspectives regarding those books, these prior responses could be worth checking out, and I’ll happily boop you a link to some of those! [1] [2] [3]

Cressida Cowell’s writing style, to me, is a fascinating combination of simple and eloquent. This goes for how she forms sentences, constructs plot, uses tropes, and more. She takes seemingly common elements that most of us wouldn’t consider “special” - and utilizes them to powerful effect.

Her narration style is charming. In the How to Train Your Dragon books, she uses two similar but distinct writing styles. The prologues and epilogues are given a finesse different than the material in the main chapters.

The majority of her text is written in an almost whimsical, childish way - especially at the start of the series. Sentences are simple; descriptions are amusing; humor is prevalent; and her presentation is straightforward. Unashamed use of italics, capslock, font changes, and font size changes - plus childish scribbles for illustration - contribute to the youthfulness of her narration.

How to Train Your Dragon Ch. 1: First Catch Your Dragon:

“ANYBODY would be better than Hiccup,” sneered Snotface Snotlout. “Even Fishlegs would be better than Hiccup.”

Fishlegs had a squint that made him blind as a jellyfish, and an allergy to reptiles.

“SILENCE!” roared Gobber the Belch. “The next boy to speak has limpets for lunch for the next THREE WEEKS!”

There was absolute silence immediately. Limpets are a bit like worms and a bit like snot and a lot less tasty than either.

As the series develops, the main prose develops slightly, too. Fans often discuss how Cowell’s illustrations markedly grow in complexity from start to end, even as they retain their childish personality. Cowell herself has confirmed that these artistic changes are representative of Hiccup aging. The writing doesn’t change as notably, but it’s arguably there. So, this benign, whimsical narration takes on intentional effect: she’s writing a story about a child with prose that matches the character’s age. It helps us readers enter the mind of a child as we go through Hiccup’s younger years. It’s not to say that it means we can’t think through complex topics in this framework, because we do address deep topics in the breadth of the narration… but the childish writing style provides a personality and character and framing device for how we readers “feel” the story.

The prologues and epilogues are different. In first instead of third person, they’re written as the reflections of old man Hiccup in his eighties. The writing style here maintains simple characteristics in, for instance, word choice… but it’s mature in tone and topic. These passages are often my favorites, as they delve into interesting moral reflections tied to the adventures young!Hiccup is having in the main story. This is where Cowell shines the most in her combination of simple and eloquent. There’s beauty in what she writes in the prologues and epilogues. Reading them aloud, words flow marvelously (that opening passage in the first book… mmm yum), and you can hear the reflection of the man behind them. It’s where you’ll get quotes like:

How to Ride a Dragon’s Storm: Epilogue

Maybe all Kings should bear the Slavemark, to remind them that they should be slaves to their people, rather than the other way around. And to help them never to forget what it feels like to be a child… to be small and weak and helpless.

How to Betray a Dragon’s Hero: Prologue

Great things are only made out of love and out of pain. 

A great sword must be made out of the very best steel. But what truly makes the sword great is what happens to the sword after it is made. 

We call this the “testing” of the sword. 

The sword is bashed and hammered and hollered into shape by the bright hammer. It is thrust into the fierce heat of the fire, where it softens, and then it is quickly quenched in water, where it hardens again. The higher the temperature, the fiercer the fire, the tougher and greater the sword eventually becomes. 

The whole testing process can make a sword, or break it.

The same could be said for the making of a Hero.

Cowell’s still not using complicated vocabulary. Occasionally she’ll insert something like “indelible” into the text, but generally, it’s (superficially) simple language. However. It’s also thoughtful, eloquent, and markedly more mature than something you’ll get in Chapter 3 of the first book. “Great things are only made out of love and out of pain” is something I could embroider and hang on my wall - it’s that sort of a reflective quote. 

The contrast of the two styles - the more childish and the more eloquent-mature - help us understand Hiccup’s life from two perspectives: the viewpoint of a kid experiencing dangers around him idealistically hoping to change the world, and the viewpoint of an adult reflecting back with complex moral understandings. And as Hiccup’s adventures become increasingly darker and he grows in age, the main prose will match the mood.

The writing style works. She doesn’t need a large vocabulary or complex sentential forms to sound thoughtful and imbue great adventures or thematic points. Cowell knows how to impart heart-felt concepts and great reflections for readers of any age, child to adult… and have us impacted by them.

Cressida Cowell’s use of tropes is similarly deceiving. The best writing, I believe, combines refreshingly new material with storytelling elements we’re familiar with - our tropes. I believe Cowell strikes the balance marvelously. 

She brings in wildly creative new concepts - like a quirky world where dragon species are everything down to big-mouthed bee catchers or insect-sized nanodragons. Characters are equally as ridiculous and special; I’d be hard-pressed to find a personality similar to Camicazi anywhere in literature or media.

Cowell also knows how to use tropes. We so often see the feckless, unwanted, socially outcast wimpy protagonist turn into a Hero. We’ve seen a character with a special sword and a noteworthy family history. We’ve seen a character called by fate and prophecy to revolutionize the land before apocalypse. But that doesn’t make Hiccup a generic character handled blandly. Cowell balances fate with agency and with the challenges of reality. Hiccup has to make choices to save what he loves. And Hiccup is limited in what he can do. After all, “History is a set of repeating circles, like the tide. The wind does blow through the ruins of tomorrow. But it is more a question of two steps forward, one step back.” What we get is a Hero’s journey, but one where our Hero is truly spectacular, diligent, unyielding, pushed to the brink, and endlessly inspirational.

I think the thing that impresses me the most in how Cowell handles tropes is the “it can’t get any worse and then it does” concept. We’ve seen it before. Stories make protagonists go through a dark low. And when the character doesn’t think situations can worsen, they do. What makes the HTTYD series so spectacular and unique in how it’s handled… is the sheer repeated beating Cowell does. It’s overwhelming. She keeps going, and going, and going, and going, and doesn’t stop. Other authors would have stopped five bad events ago! It’s to the point that, in book ten, after so many bad things repeatedly occurred, I cried when Hiccup reached one small positive in his efforts. The author isn’t afraid to put our protagonist through the ringer, thereby making every bad experience, and good experience, impacting, memorable, and sometimes shocking to us as readers.

Cowell definitely uses plot devices we’ve seen before. But she weaves them together impactingly, making an emotional ride through high highs and low lows. We’re left with an inspirational takeaway and a Hero’s development we won’t forget.

Cowell’s long-term plot structure is brilliant, too. She divides the series into three equal parts, more or less. The first part is the “isolated” series of whimsical, innocent, childish adventures. The second part makes you squint suspiciously, realizing you’re getting into more complex and dangerous incidences than you expected. The third part is what I lovingly call “the Ragnarok of pain and despair.”

The starting books, deceivingly, seem like isolated, simple adventures. Cowell’s actually setting ALL the stages for the series’ later turmoil. She’s inserting characters, items, prophecies, themes, conflicts, and plot points that will become extraordinarily impacting as the series continues. But readers don’t notice Cowell’s clever, thorough foundation. They just see cutesie, simple, isolated incidences first read through. 

The middling section is where Cowell starts to utilize what she set up. She begins implementing chaos and intertwining strings, pulling Hiccup’s life from random childhood incidences with Alvin and dragons… into something centrally important. She brings together the history of the Barbaric Archipelago with the current events Hiccup’s experiencing around him. All Hiccup’s starting point experiences from the first books become formulative to the choices he has to make now. And all the while, there’s the stewing build-up of a central conflict… which explodes at the end of the second part.

The third part is all-out war. All-out drama. All-out danger. All-out stakes. We see how everything Cowell wrote is interconnected, from the start of the series to whatever conclusion Hiccup’s journey will bring. Moral themes and questions are central; characters are pushed into growth; what we thought was some random thing at the start turns out to be a cleverly-inserted Chekhov’s gun. It’s the payoff to all the set-up and build-up… brilliantly, effectively executed.

Obviously I can’t give examples to you. That would be spoilers. XD To people who’ve read the series, I’ll just say, for one example: all the King’s Things. That’s one example of Cowell’s build-up. But the build-up is everything from moral themes, to character dynamics, to foreshadowed historical revelations. It’s well-paced, well-thought through, well-executed.

The How to Train Your Dragon books are thus both simple and eloquent. And that which is simple isn’t “watered down” - it’s “simple” with purpose, “simple” with complexity, “simple” with personality, “simple” with power.

This is why I always encourage people to keep reading after the first few books. Some people find the starting adventures adorable, loving the charm and humor. I adore that all myself! They’re legitimately treasurable books in and of their own. Other readers aren’t as interested in the cutesie stuff, approaching the first HTTYD books with skepticism; they don’t think that these benign stories are “their thing.” However, every time I’ve encouraged skeptics to read after the first few books, they get sucked in, and find themselves screaming and crying and laughing and celebrating with Hiccup’s dynamic adventures. It’s all because Cowell’s simplicity is deceptive: there’s so much more going on, and there’s always more going on the deeper in you look.