Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's masterful trilogies set in a universe that appears, here more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reassembling themselves along novel and troubling lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from states, and accumulating in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of business empires, the control of rioters. "An element is at work, silently, gradually", says businessman a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and durable are faltering and failing."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that drives the concluding book, which resumes where the previous book left off. This is, according to many, the author's final foray into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating world he first revealed 30 years ago, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose geography aligns with that of our world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals appear and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, souls in beast form; where the skies are populated with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, vehicles are taken and beverages is consumed, and middle-aged professors carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the prequel, the origin story with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still recognisably the sharp and determined protagonist of the earlier books, but aged, more sorrowful, more careful, less certain. This limitation is amplified by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to go off in search of that childlike part of her which she may have forgotten (an trait which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which followed Lyra undertake a wandering trek across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with marvel and danger on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in play, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the religious governing authority, and the author's brilliantly sinister incarnation of austere, administrative wickedness – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. The antagonist – our protagonist's relative, who blames her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the role of president of the authority's governing body, and is intent on using his fresh authority to broaden the church's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who carried young the heroine to refuge along a swollen river as an child in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in spycraft: he is sent to a key location to find out more about Delamare's intentions. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and valuable essential oil which manifests somehow to be the cause of a social and economic upheaval rippling out from that area. The oil is seen by certain groups as a tradeable good, by different parties as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by further factions – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a origin of evil; an affront that must be obliterated. The issue of its source, its significance, and whether it should be removed or preserved is becoming urgent.
As in His Dark Materials, our protagonist's decisions, and her future, are revealed to be inseparably linked with the future of the realm
In its predecessor, these narratives ran mostly in side by side. In this final book, they come together. Similar to His Dark Materials, her choices and her destiny are revealed to be inseparably entwined with the destiny of the world. Her private mission to rejoin with her daemon and rediscover her imagination becomes the primary conflict in a broader conflict with an oppressive government which, as these systems always have, is striving to quell autonomy of thinking, originality and art: all the internal, defiant ways in which humans can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The book opens with the unveiling of a set of unusual openings in the structure of the world's sky: portals that seem to lead to alternate realities. An example of a portal appears to be the point of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The authority, with its leader at its head, classifies these windows as a challenge to the religion's orthodoxy and aims to destroy them. As Lyra begins to shift from strict rationalism and return to feeling, yet, her conviction that these places must be preserved – that their significance and their value is somehow vital – increases. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or whatever we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean tussle between purity and maturity is set.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
