Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that appears, now more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or restructuring themselves along new and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from authorities, and gathering in the halls of religious leaders, the vaults of conglomerates, the grasp of rioters. "An element is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and strong are faltering and failing."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that propels this final volume, which continues where the previous book left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final venture into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating universe he first unveiled in the distant past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a world whose landscape maps on to that of this world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and act like us, but are joined by daemons, beings in animal form; where the heavens are teeming with witches and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, vehicles are caught and drinks is sipped, and middle-aged scholars carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still distinctly the spiky and persistent main character of the previous installments, but older, melancholic, more careful, less sure. This circumscription is amplified by her separation from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that childlike part of her which she may have forgotten (an quality which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with wonder and peril on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the faith's ruling body, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of rigid, procedural evil – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the role of president of the authority's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his newfound power to broaden the church's rule. Another protagonist, who carried infant Lyra to safety along a swollen river as an child in the first book, is now an academic with a secondary role in spycraft: he is assigned to Geneva to learn more about the antagonist's plans. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and valuable rose oil which seems somehow to be the origin of a social and economic upheaval rippling out from the region. The oil is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable good, by different parties as a empirical or spiritual miracle, and by yet others – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a source of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The issue of where it comes from, what it stands for, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is escalating in importance.
Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's deeds, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inseparably linked with the fate of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran largely in tandem. In this final book, they come together. Like the first trilogy, her actions and her path are unveiled to be inseparably entwined with the future of the universe. Her individual journey to reunite with her soul and recover her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a broader battle with an oppressive system which, as such regimes always have, is striving to stifle freedom of thought, creativity and culture: all the internal, rebellious ways in which people can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The story opens with the finding of a series of unusual openings in the structure of the world's air: portals that look to give on to alternate realities. A particular opening seems to be the source of the highly contested rose oil. The authority, with the antagonist at its head, labels these portals as a threat to the institution's orthodoxy and sets out to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from strict rationalism and return to intuition, yet, her belief that these locations must be preserved – that their meaning and what they provide is in some way vital – grows. "Dust, or the substance, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a Blakean tussle between purity and experience is established.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
