Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that appears, now more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from authorities, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the hands of rioters. "An element is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and strong are deteriorating and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Precisely what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which continues where its predecessor ended. This is, reportedly, the author's last foray into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling realm he first unveiled in the distant past, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose geography corresponds to that of this world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and act like us, but are joined by animal souls, essences in animal form; where the air are teeming with witches and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, vehicles are caught and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged professors carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the first volume, the origin story with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still distinctly the prickly and determined heroine of the earlier books, but older, sadder, more careful, more doubtful. This circumscription is amplified by her separation from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to leave in pursuit of that youthful part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with wonder and risk on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the religious governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of austere, administrative evil – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's relative, who blames her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the position of president of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his newfound power to broaden the religion's rule. A key character, who saved young Lyra to refuge along a swollen river as an young boy in La Belle Sauvage, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in spycraft: he is dispatched to a key location to discover more about his plans. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and precious rose oil which seems in some way to be the origin of a societal and financial crisis emanating out from that area. The extract is viewed by some as a marketable commodity, by alternate groups as a research-based or spiritual miracle, and by others still – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be eradicated. The issue of where it comes from, what it stands for, and whether it should be eliminated or protected is becoming urgent.
Like the original trilogy, our protagonist's deeds, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be deeply linked with the future of the universe
In its predecessor, these narratives ran broadly in parallel. In the conclusion, they come together. As in the first trilogy, the protagonist's choices and her fate are unveiled to be inseparably linked with the future of the world. Her private mission to reunite with her daemon and rediscover her vision becomes the central battleground in a wider conflict with an oppressive system which, as such authorities typically do, is striving to stifle autonomy of thinking, innovation and culture: all the internal, defiant ways in which people can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The story starts with the discovery of a collection of strange fissures in the structure of the world's air: portals that appear to lead to different dimensions. An example of a window appears to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its leadership, labels these portals as a threat to the church's beliefs and sets out to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to move from rigid reason and return to feeling, however, her conviction that these places must be preserved – that their meaning and what they provide is mysteriously vital – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or whatever we name it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a philosophical struggle between naivety and maturity is set.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
