Things are collapsing in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that appears, here more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is draining from authorities, and accumulating in the chambers of religious leaders, the coffers of conglomerates, the grasp of mobs. "Something is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and strong are deteriorating and failing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that propels the concluding book, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, according to many, the author's concluding excursion into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating realm he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose terrain corresponds to that of the real world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals look and reason and act like us, but are joined by daemons, souls in beast form; where the heavens are filled with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, transports are taken and drinks is sipped, and mature professors carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a child in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still recognisably the prickly and tenacious main character of the earlier books, but more mature, more sorrowful, more cautious, more doubtful. This restraint is amplified by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
The daemon's resolve to leave in quest of that youthful part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an trait which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which followed Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and peril on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of strict, procedural evil – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. The antagonist – our protagonist's uncle, who blames her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of president of the authority's governing body, and is determined on using his newfound authority to extend the institution's rule. Another protagonist, who saved baby Lyra to refuge along a overflowing Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a sideline in espionage: he is dispatched to Geneva to find out more about his plans. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and costly botanical extract which manifests somehow to be the origin of a social and financial upheaval rippling out from the region. The extract is viewed by certain groups as a marketable commodity, by alternate groups as a scientific or esoteric miracle, and by further factions – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a source of malevolence; an affront that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its source, its significance, and if it should be destroyed or preserved is escalating in importance.
As in the first series, the heroine's actions, and her fate, are demonstrated to be inextricably connected with the future of the realm
In its predecessor, these storylines ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they converge. As in His Dark Materials, Lyra's movements and her destiny are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the future of the realm. Her individual quest to reconnect with her soul and regain her creativity becomes the primary battleground in a broader war with an oppressive government which, as these systems often attempt, is seeking to quell autonomy of thought, creativity and culture: all the inner, defiant ways in which people can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The story starts with the discovery of a collection of strange openings in the fabric of the planet's air: gateways that look to lead to alternate realities. A particular window seems to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its leadership, designates these windows as a threat to the church's beliefs and aims to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to move from inflexible reason and return to instinct, however, her belief that these locations must be defended – that what they stand for and what they provide is somehow crucial – increases. "Dust, or the substance, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or whatever we name it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a poetic tussle between purity and maturity is set.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
