Tings are falling apart in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that seems, here more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or restructuring themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from governments, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were firm and solid are deteriorating and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that drives this final volume, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, reportedly, the author's final excursion into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating realm he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose terrain corresponds to that of this world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, essences in animal form; where the heavens are filled with witches and legendary creatures, but below, vehicles are taken and drinks is drunk, and middle-aged academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the first volume, the origin story with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still clearly the prickly and determined heroine of the prior volumes, but more mature, more sorrowful, warier, more doubtful. This limitation is amplified by her division from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
The daemon's resolve to leave in search of that innocent part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he represents as her "creativity"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and peril on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in action, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the religious governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of rigid, administrative malice – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's uncle, who faults her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the office of president of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is set on using his fresh power to broaden the church's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued young Lyra to refuge along a overflowing Thames as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in spycraft: he is sent to Geneva to learn more about Delamare's intentions. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and valuable botanical extract which manifests in some way to be the origin of a societal and financial crisis spreading out from that area. The extract is regarded by some as a tradeable commodity, by different parties as a empirical or mystical phenomenon, and by further factions – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a source of malevolence; an challenge that must be eradicated. The question of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be removed or preserved is becoming urgent.
Like the first series, Lyra's decisions, and her destiny, are revealed to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran mostly in side by side. In this final book, they come together. As in the original series, the protagonist's choices and her fate are shown to be inextricably woven with the destiny of the world. Her personal journey to reconnect with her soul and regain her vision becomes the key battleground in a wider war with an oppressive system which, as such authorities always have, is seeking to quell independence of thinking, creativity and culture: all the personal, rebellious ways in which people can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The novel starts with the unveiling of a collection of curious cracks in the structure of the planet's air: portals that look to lead to other worlds. A particular window manifests to be the point of the much debated rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its helm, labels these windows as a threat to the religion's beliefs and endeavors to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from rigid reason and return to intuition, nevertheless, her conviction that these locations must be protected – that what they stand for and what they offer is somehow vital – increases. "The substance, or the extract, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or whatever we name it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a philosophical conflict between innocence and knowledge is set.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
