Things are collapsing in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a world that manifests, now more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along new and troubling lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from authorities, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of business empires, the hands of rioters. "An element is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were stable and durable are deteriorating and giving way."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that propels this final volume, which picks up where its predecessor left off. This is, according to many, the author's concluding foray into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling world he first revealed three decades past, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose geography aligns with that of this world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans appear and reason and behave like us, but are joined by daemons, souls in animal form; where the air are teeming with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, vehicles are caught and drinks is drunk, and mature academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a child in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the first volume, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still distinctly the sharp and tenacious heroine of the earlier books, but aged, melancholic, more cautious, less sure. This restraint is heightened by her division from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to leave in search of that childlike part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with wonder and danger on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in play, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister representation of rigid, administrative evil – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's relative, who faults her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of president of the church's ruling assembly, and is set on using his newfound authority to expand the religion's control. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued baby the heroine to security along a overflowing Thames as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an academic with a sideline in espionage: he is dispatched to the city to learn more about Delamare's aims. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and precious rose oil which seems mysteriously to be the origin of a social and financial disturbance emanating out from that area. The extract is regarded by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by others as a scientific or esoteric wonder, and by yet others – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a origin of evil; an affront that must be eradicated. The issue of its origins, its meaning, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
Similar to the original trilogy, our protagonist's actions, and her destiny, are shown to be inseparably connected with the fate of the universe
In its predecessor, these narratives ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they merge. As in the first trilogy, the protagonist's choices and her fate are unveiled to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the realm. Her private mission to reconnect with her daemon and recover her imagination becomes the central conflict in a wider war with an authoritarian regime which, as these systems often attempt, is seeking to stifle freedom of thinking, originality and culture: all the personal, defiant ways in which individuals can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The novel starts with the finding of a set of unusual cracks in the makeup of the world's sky: windows that seem to give on to different dimensions. A particular portal manifests to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The authority, with Delamare at its head, labels these windows as a problem to the church's beliefs and endeavors to destroy them. As Lyra begins to turn away from strict rationalism and back to instinct, nevertheless, her belief that these places must be preserved – that their meaning and their value is in some way crucial – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a Blakean conflict between naivety and maturity is established.
Story Tempo and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
