Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that seems, now more than ever, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disquieting 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 shifting from states, and gathering in the chambers of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the control of mobs. "Something is at work, stealthily, gradually", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and strong are faltering and giving way."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Just what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's last excursion into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling world he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of this world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the humans look and think and act like us, but are joined by animal souls, souls in animal form; where the heavens are teeming with witches and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, vehicles are ridden and tea is drunk, and older professors carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in the prequel, the origin story with which the author began the series, is now a young woman: still distinctly the sharp and tenacious heroine of the previous installments, but older, melancholic, warier, less sure. This limitation is intensified by her division from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to go off in search of that childlike part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he represents as her "creativity"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which followed Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with amazement and peril on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in action, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the faith's ruling body, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of rigid, procedural wickedness – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's family member, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of president of the church's governing body, and is set on using his recently acquired power to extend the church's rule. A key character, who rescued infant Lyra to security along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in espionage: he is assigned to the city to learn more about Delamare's plans. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and valuable rose oil which appears in some way to be the source of a societal and financial disturbance emanating out from that area. The oil is viewed by certain groups as a commercial commodity, by different parties as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the extremist "highland figures" – as a origin of malevolence; an challenge that must be destroyed. The question of where it comes from, its meaning, and if it should be removed or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
Like the original trilogy, the heroine's decisions, and her destiny, are shown to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the world
In the previous volume, these storylines ran broadly in parallel. In the conclusion, they come together. As in His Dark Materials, Lyra's movements and her destiny are shown to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the universe. Her private quest to rejoin with her daemon and recover her vision becomes the central struggle in a wider war with an controlling system which, as such regimes typically do, is attempting to suppress independence of thought, creativity and art: all the internal, resistant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The novel begins with the discovery of a series of curious openings in the structure of the Earth's atmosphere: portals that look to give on to different dimensions. One such portal seems to be the point of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The authority, with the antagonist at its helm, labels these openings as a challenge to the institution's doctrine and endeavors to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to move from inflexible rationalism and revert to intuition, nevertheless, her conviction that these places must be defended – that their significance and what they offer is in some way vital – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a philosophical tussle between naivety and maturity is set.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
