Tings are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's grand trilogies set in a universe that manifests, now more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from authorities, and accumulating in the offices of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the control of crowds. "Something is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were secure and durable are deteriorating and giving way."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Just what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that drives the concluding book, which resumes where its predecessor ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's final venture into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting universe he first introduced 30 years ago, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a world whose terrain aligns with that of the real world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans look and reason and act like us, but are paired by external spirits, essences in beast form; where the air are populated with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, transports are caught and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged professors carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a child in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the prickly and determined main character of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, more cautious, more doubtful. This circumscription is amplified by her split from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
The daemon's resolve to depart in search of that innocent part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an quality which he represents as her "vision"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed Lyra undertake a adventurous journey across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with marvel and danger on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in action, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of austere, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's relative, who blames her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the role of leader of the church's governing body, and is set on using his newfound power to extend the institution's control. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued young Lyra to refuge along a swollen Thames as an child in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in spycraft: he is sent to the city to discover more about Delamare's aims. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and precious rose oil which appears somehow to be the origin of a social and economic crisis rippling out from the region. The extract is regarded by various factions as a marketable good, by different parties as a scientific or esoteric miracle, and by others still – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of darkness; an insult that must be eradicated. The issue of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is becoming urgent.
As in the original trilogy, the heroine's deeds, and her destiny, are revealed to be inextricably linked with the fate of the universe
In the previous volume, these narratives ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they converge. Similar to the first trilogy, the protagonist's actions and her destiny are revealed to be inextricably linked with the fate of the universe. Her private quest to rejoin with her soul and regain her imagination becomes the central battleground in a wider battle with an authoritarian government which, as these systems always have, is seeking to suppress independence of reason, originality and expression: all the inner, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The book opens with the discovery of a set of curious cracks in the makeup of the world's sky: gateways that appear to give on to other worlds. An example of a opening appears to be the origin of the much debated rose oil. The church, with Delamare at its head, labels these portals as a challenge to the church's beliefs and endeavors to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to shift from inflexible rationalism and revert to instinct, nevertheless, her conviction that these places must be protected – that their meaning and what they provide is somehow essential – strengthens. "The substance, or rose oil, or the vision, or the field of roses, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a poetic tussle between innocence and knowledge is set.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
