Things are falling apart in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a world that appears, in this volume especially, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or reassembling themselves along novel and troubling lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from governments, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the vaults of business empires, the grasp of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and solid are weakening and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that propels this final volume, which picks up where the previous book left off. This is, reportedly, the author's final foray into the elaborately built, deeply captivating realm he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose geography maps on to that of the real world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, souls in beast form; where the air are filled with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, transports are caught and drinks is sipped, and mature scholars carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a child in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a young woman: still clearly the spiky and determined heroine of the prior volumes, but more mature, sadder, more careful, less sure. This restraint is amplified by her division from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to go off in quest of that innocent part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an quality which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which saw Lyra undertake a picaresque trek across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in play, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the faith's ruling body, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of austere, bureaucratic evil – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's uncle, who blames her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the role of president of the church's High Council, and is determined on using his newfound authority to extend the religion's dominium. Another protagonist, who carried young the heroine to refuge along a overflowing river as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about Delamare's plans. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and valuable essential oil which manifests in some way to be the cause of a social and economic crisis emanating out from Central Asia. The substance is seen by some as a tradeable good, by others as a empirical or mystical phenomenon, and by others still – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of darkness; an affront that must be destroyed. The question of its origins, its meaning, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is becoming urgent.
Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's decisions, and her destiny, are shown to be inextricably linked with the future of the universe
In the previous volume, these storylines ran mostly in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. Similar to the original series, Lyra's actions and her path are revealed to be inextricably linked with the fate of the realm. Her personal quest to rejoin with her companion and recover her imagination becomes the central conflict in a broader battle with an authoritarian system which, as such authorities often attempt, is attempting to suppress independence of thinking, creativity and art: all the inner, defiant ways in which humans can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The book starts with the unveiling of a series of unusual openings in the makeup of the Earth's sky: windows that appear to open into other worlds. An example of a opening appears to be the point of the much debated rose oil. The Magisterium, with its leader at its helm, classifies these portals as a challenge to the institution's beliefs and endeavors to destroy them. As Lyra begins to turn away from rigid logic and revert to instinct, yet, her certainty that these places must be preserved – that their meaning and what they offer is somehow essential – grows. "The substance, or the substance, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a poetic tussle between innocence and experience is established.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
