Things 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, in this volume especially, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along new and troubling lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is draining from authorities, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the control of crowds. "Something is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were secure and solid are deteriorating and failing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, according to many, Pullman's final venture into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating realm he first unveiled in the distant past, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose terrain aligns with that of our world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and think and behave like us, but are paired by animal souls, souls in animal form; where the heavens are populated with witches and mythical beasts, but underneath, vehicles are caught and beverages is sipped, and middle-aged professors carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the prequel, the origin story with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still clearly the prickly and determined protagonist of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, more careful, more doubtful. This limitation is intensified by her division from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the cause 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 appears to have shed (an quality which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with amazement and danger on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in action, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the religious governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie embodiment of strict, procedural evil – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. The antagonist – our protagonist's uncle, who faults her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of president of the Magisterium's High Council, and is determined on using his fresh influence to broaden the institution's control. A key character, who carried infant the heroine to refuge along a flooded Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an academic with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is assigned to a key location to learn more about Delamare's plans. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and precious essential oil which seems mysteriously to be the origin of a social and financial crisis rippling out from Central Asia. The extract is regarded by various factions as a marketable product, by others as a scientific or mystical phenomenon, and by further factions – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a source of malevolence; an insult that must be eradicated. The dilemma of where it comes from, what it stands for, and if it should be destroyed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
As in the original trilogy, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are revealed to be inextricably connected with the fate of the realm
In the previous volume, these narratives ran mostly in tandem. In the conclusion, they merge. Like His Dark Materials, Lyra's movements and her fate are unveiled to be inextricably woven with the fate of the world. Her private mission to reconnect with her soul and rediscover her vision becomes the central struggle in a wider battle with an oppressive regime which, as these systems always have, is attempting to suppress autonomy of reason, innovation and expression: all the inner, rebellious ways in which humans can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The novel starts with the discovery of a series of curious openings in the makeup of the planet's sky: gateways that look to lead to alternate realities. An example of a opening appears to be the point of the much debated rose oil. The Magisterium, with its leader at its leadership, designates these portals as a problem to the religion's beliefs and sets out to destroy them. As the heroine begins to shift from inflexible reason and return to feeling, however, her certainty that these places must be defended – that their significance and their value is mysteriously crucial – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the vision, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a poetic conflict between naivety and maturity is prepared.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
