Things are falling apart in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that seems, now more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reassembling themselves along new and troubling lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from authorities, and pooling in the chambers of theocrats, the treasuries of business empires, the hands of mobs. "An element is at work, silently, gradually", says businessman a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were firm and strong are faltering and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that propels the concluding book, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last venture into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating world he first unveiled three decades past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose landscape maps on to 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 accompanied by daemons, essences in animal form; where the skies are teeming with enchantresses and gryphons, but underneath, vehicles are taken and tea is consumed, and mature academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a child in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still distinctly the sharp and persistent protagonist of the earlier books, but older, more sorrowful, more careful, less certain. This circumscription is heightened by her split from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in quest of that innocent part of her which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled Lyra undertake a wandering voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with marvel and danger on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of strict, bureaucratic wickedness – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of president of the authority's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his newfound influence to extend the church's control. A key character, who saved young Lyra to security along a overflowing river as an child in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is dispatched to Geneva to discover more about his plans. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and valuable botanical extract which appears somehow to be the origin of a social and economic upheaval emanating out from the region. The oil is seen by some as a marketable commodity, by others as a empirical or esoteric miracle, and by yet others – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a origin of darkness; an affront that must be eradicated. The issue of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be removed or protected is becoming urgent.
As in the original trilogy, our protagonist's actions, and her future, are demonstrated to be inextricably entwined with the future of the world
In its predecessor, these plots ran largely in side by side. In this final book, they come together. As in the original series, her actions and her path are revealed to be deeply woven with the fate of the universe. Her private mission to reunite with her soul and regain her vision becomes the central battleground in a larger conflict with an oppressive regime which, as these systems always have, is attempting to stifle autonomy of reason, innovation and expression: all the personal, resistant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The novel begins with the unveiling of a set of curious openings in the fabric of the Earth's atmosphere: portals that appear to lead to other worlds. A particular window seems to be the source of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The church, with the antagonist at its helm, designates these windows as a problem to the church's doctrine and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from inflexible rationalism and return to feeling, nevertheless, her belief that these sites must be preserved – that what they stand for and their value is in some way essential – increases. "The substance, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a philosophical conflict between purity and experience is established.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
