Tings are collapsing in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, here more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along novel and troubling lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from authorities, and pooling in the offices of religious leaders, the vaults of corporations, the hands of mobs. "Some force is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and durable are deteriorating and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Just what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's last venture into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating world he first revealed 30 years ago, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose landscape corresponds to that of this world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and reason and behave like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, essences in beast form; where the heavens are teeming with witches and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, transports are taken and drinks is sipped, and older professors carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which the author began the series, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the spiky and tenacious protagonist of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, more cautious, less sure. This circumscription is amplified by her separation from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to go off in search of that youthful part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an quality which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a adventurous trek across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and peril on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie representation of austere, bureaucratic malice – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of leader of the Magisterium's High Council, and is intent on using his fresh influence to broaden the religion's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued baby the heroine to refuge along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a sideline in intelligence work: he is assigned to the city to learn more about Delamare's intentions. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and valuable botanical extract which seems mysteriously to be the source of a societal and financial crisis emanating out from the region. The oil is regarded by some as a marketable commodity, by others as a empirical or esoteric miracle, and by others still – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a origin of malevolence; an affront that must be eradicated. The dilemma of where it comes from, its significance, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is escalating in importance.
As in the original trilogy, our protagonist's deeds, and her future, are demonstrated to be inextricably linked with the future of the world
In its predecessor, these storylines ran mostly in tandem. In this final book, they merge. Similar to the original series, her movements and her fate are shown to be deeply linked with the fate of the universe. Her individual quest to rejoin with her soul and regain her vision becomes the central conflict in a broader conflict with an controlling government which, as these systems always have, is striving to suppress freedom of reason, originality and culture: all the inner, resistant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The book starts with the discovery of a collection of unusual fissures in the fabric of the planet's air: portals that look to open into other worlds. A particular window appears to be the origin of the highly contested botanical substance. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its helm, designates these openings as a problem to the church's doctrine and aims to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from inflexible logic and back to intuition, yet, her certainty that these sites must be protected – that what they stand for and their value is in some way crucial – increases. "The substance, or the extract, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a philosophical struggle between purity and knowledge is set.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
