Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that appears, in this volume especially, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from states, and gathering in the offices of religious leaders, the coffers of conglomerates, the control of crowds. "Something is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and durable are deteriorating and failing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that propels this final volume, which continues where the previous book left off. This is, reportedly, the author's final venture into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting realm he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose landscape aligns with that of our world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans look and reason and behave like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, essences in animal form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, vehicles are taken and tea is drunk, and middle-aged scholars carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the first volume, the introductory book with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still recognisably the spiky and persistent heroine of the earlier books, but older, melancholic, more careful, less certain. This circumscription is intensified by her split from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that childlike part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an trait which he represents as her "vision"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which saw Lyra undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with amazement and danger on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie embodiment of rigid, procedural malice – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's family member, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of president of the church's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound power to broaden the institution's dominium. A key character, who rescued infant Lyra to safety along a swollen Thames as an young boy in La Belle Sauvage, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in espionage: he is dispatched to the city to find out more about Delamare's intentions. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and precious essential oil which appears somehow to be the origin of a societal and financial crisis spreading out from the region. The oil is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable good, by alternate groups as a research-based or spiritual wonder, and by others still – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be eradicated. The question of its origins, what it stands for, and whether it should be destroyed or preserved is becoming urgent.
As in the first series, Lyra's deeds, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inseparably entwined with the destiny of the realm
In its predecessor, these narratives ran mostly in tandem. In the conclusion, they come together. As in His Dark Materials, Lyra's choices and her destiny are revealed to be inextricably woven with the future of the world. Her individual mission to reconnect with her soul and recover her vision becomes the primary battleground in a broader battle with an oppressive regime which, as such authorities always have, is striving to suppress freedom of thinking, originality and art: all the inner, defiant ways in which humans can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The novel starts with the unveiling of a series of unusual cracks in the fabric of the world's atmosphere: portals that seem to lead to alternate realities. An example of a opening manifests to be the point of the highly contested botanical substance. The authority, with Delamare at its leadership, designates these openings as a problem to the church's doctrine and sets out to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to move from strict rationalism and revert to instinct, however, her conviction that these places must be defended – that their meaning and their value is in some way crucial – increases. "Dust, or the substance, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or whatever we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a Blakean conflict between innocence and maturity is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
