Tings are falling apart in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that manifests, in this volume especially, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reassembling themselves along novel and troubling lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from authorities, and gathering in the halls of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the control of mobs. "Some force is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his post in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and strong are deteriorating and collapsing."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Just what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that drives this final volume, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final foray into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating universe he first revealed 30 years ago, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose geography aligns with that of the real world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans appear and think and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, souls in animal form; where the air are teeming with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, buses are caught and drinks is sipped, and middle-aged scholars carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the prequel, the origin story with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still clearly the prickly and persistent heroine of the prior volumes, but aged, more sorrowful, warier, less sure. This restraint is intensified by her split from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that innocent part of her which she may have forgotten (an trait which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with wonder and peril on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in action, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the faith's ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie embodiment of rigid, procedural wickedness – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. The antagonist – Lyra's relative, who blames her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the position of head of the Magisterium's governing body, and is intent on using his recently acquired power to extend the institution's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued young Lyra to refuge along a flooded Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in spycraft: he is dispatched to a key location to find out more about the antagonist's aims. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and costly botanical extract which appears mysteriously to be the origin of a societal and economic crisis spreading out from that area. The substance is viewed by certain groups as a tradeable product, by alternate groups as a empirical or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of darkness; an insult that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be destroyed or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
Like the first series, the heroine's actions, and her future, are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the future of the universe
In the previous volume, these narratives ran mostly in tandem. In this final book, they converge. Like His Dark Materials, her actions and her path are revealed to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the realm. Her individual quest to rejoin with her daemon and regain her vision becomes the central battleground in a broader battle with an oppressive regime which, as such authorities often attempt, is seeking to stifle independence of thought, innovation and culture: all the personal, rebellious ways in which people can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The book opens with the unveiling of a set of curious cracks in the fabric of the world's sky: gateways that appear to give on to different dimensions. A particular opening seems to be the point of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its head, classifies these windows as a challenge to the church's doctrine and aims to destroy them. As Lyra begins to shift from inflexible logic and revert to intuition, however, her conviction that these sites must be defended – that their significance and what they provide is mysteriously crucial – increases. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a philosophical tussle between naivety and knowledge is set.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
