Tings are falling apart in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's grand trilogies set in a realm that seems, now more than ever, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from governments, and accumulating in the chambers of religious leaders, the coffers of conglomerates, the control of rioters. "An element is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his place in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and durable are deteriorating and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Just what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that drives the concluding book, which picks up where its predecessor ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's last venture into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating realm he first unveiled three decades past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose terrain corresponds to that of this world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals appear and think and act like us, but are accompanied by daemons, essences in animal form; where the skies are filled with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, transports are taken and beverages is sipped, and middle-aged professors carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a child in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still distinctly the spiky and tenacious heroine of the earlier books, but older, melancholic, more careful, less certain. This circumscription is heightened by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to go off in search of that innocent part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an quality which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw Lyra undertake a wandering journey across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and danger on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in play, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the church's controlling power, and the author's deliciously chilling representation of austere, bureaucratic evil – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. The antagonist – the heroine's relative, who blames her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the office of president of the authority's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his fresh influence to broaden the church's control. Malcolm Polstead, who carried baby 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 sent to the city to find out more about his aims. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and precious botanical extract which appears in some way to be the source of a societal and economic upheaval emanating out from the region. The oil is regarded by some as a tradeable commodity, by others as a scientific or esoteric miracle, and by others still – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a source of malevolence; an insult that must be destroyed. The question of its source, its significance, and whether it should be removed or protected is becoming urgent.
Similar to His Dark Materials, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are revealed to be inseparably linked with the future of the world
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in tandem. In this final book, they come together. Similar to His Dark Materials, the protagonist's movements and her fate are revealed to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the realm. Her personal mission to reconnect with her companion and regain her vision becomes the central conflict in a larger battle with an oppressive system which, as these systems always have, is seeking to suppress independence of thought, innovation and culture: all the inner, rebellious ways in which humans can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The novel begins with the unveiling of a set of strange openings in the fabric of the Earth's atmosphere: windows that look to give on to other worlds. A particular window manifests to be the origin of the much debated mystical extract. The church, with its leader at its helm, labels these portals as a challenge to the institution's beliefs and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to shift from strict reason and return to intuition, yet, her conviction that these places must be defended – that what they stand for and what they provide is mysteriously crucial – strengthens. "The substance, or the extract, or the vision, or the field of roses, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean conflict between innocence and maturity is prepared.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
