Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that appears, in this volume especially, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or restructuring themselves along novel and troubling lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from states, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the treasuries of corporations, the grasp of crowds. "Something is at work, stealthily, gradually", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his place in an city cafe. "Things we thought were secure and solid are weakening and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that drives this final volume, which continues where the previous book left off. This is, by all accounts, the author's final excursion into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating universe he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose landscape maps on to that of our world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans appear and reason and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, beings in creature form; where the air are teeming with enchantresses and gryphons, but below, buses are ridden and tea is consumed, and middle-aged scholars carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still clearly the sharp and determined main character of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, more cautious, more doubtful. This circumscription is amplified by her separation from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
The daemon's resolve to leave in pursuit of that childlike part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an quality which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed Lyra undertake a picaresque journey across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with wonder and peril on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in play, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the religious controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of austere, procedural wickedness – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. The antagonist – the heroine's family member, who blames her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the role of president of the church's High Council, and is intent on using his fresh power to extend the religion's rule. Another protagonist, who saved baby Lyra to security along a flooded Thames as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an academic with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is assigned to the city to find out more about his plans. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and precious rose oil which appears mysteriously to be the origin of a social and financial crisis spreading out from that area. The extract is viewed by some as a tradeable product, by others as a research-based or mystical phenomenon, and by further factions – the extremist "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of darkness; an affront that must be eradicated. The issue of its source, what it stands for, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is becoming urgent.
Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's actions, and her future, are revealed to be inseparably connected with the fate of the realm
In its predecessor, these narratives ran largely in parallel. In the conclusion, they come together. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's choices and her fate are shown to be inextricably entwined with the future of the universe. Her private quest to reconnect with her soul and rediscover her creativity becomes the key struggle in a broader conflict with an authoritarian regime which, as such regimes always have, is seeking to quell autonomy of thinking, innovation and art: all the personal, rebellious ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The story begins with the finding of a collection of strange cracks in the makeup of the Earth's atmosphere: portals that look to lead to alternate realities. An example of a portal appears to be the source of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its helm, classifies these portals as a challenge to the religion's beliefs and endeavors to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to move from rigid logic and return to instinct, however, her belief that these sites must be protected – that their significance and what they provide is in some way vital – increases. "The substance, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a Blakean conflict between purity and knowledge is established.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
