Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a world that seems, in this volume especially, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along novel and troubling lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from states, and gathering in the offices of religious leaders, the vaults of conglomerates, the hands of mobs. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and strong are deteriorating and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Just what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that drives this final volume, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final foray into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling world he first revealed in the distant past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose landscape maps on to that of this world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans look and think and act like us, but are joined by animal souls, essences in creature form; where the air are filled with enchantresses and gryphons, but underneath, buses are ridden and tea is sipped, and mature scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began the series, is now a adult: still distinctly the prickly and persistent main character of the previous installments, but aged, sadder, warier, less certain. This restraint is heightened by her split from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
The daemon's resolve to leave in pursuit of that innocent part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an quality which he represents as her "imagination"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with marvel and risk on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in motion, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of austere, procedural malice – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. The antagonist – Lyra's relative, who faults her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the office of leader of the Magisterium's governing body, and is determined on using his recently acquired power to broaden the religion's control. Another protagonist, who carried baby the heroine to security along a swollen Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is assigned to Geneva to find out more about Delamare's plans. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and precious rose oil which manifests in some way to be the origin of a social and economic upheaval spreading out from the region. The substance is regarded by some as a tradeable good, by others as a research-based or spiritual wonder, and by others still – the extremist "highland figures" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be obliterated. The question of its source, what it stands for, and whether it should be eliminated or protected is escalating in importance.
Similar to the original trilogy, the heroine's deeds, and her future, are shown to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the realm
In its predecessor, these plots ran broadly in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. Similar to His Dark Materials, her movements and her path are unveiled to be inseparably entwined with the fate of the realm. Her private journey to reunite with her daemon and regain her imagination becomes the primary battleground in a larger conflict with an authoritarian regime which, as these systems always have, is striving to quell independence of reason, originality and expression: all the inner, resistant ways in which people can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The book starts with the unveiling of a set of curious fissures in the structure of the planet's sky: portals that seem to lead to different dimensions. One such window seems to be the origin of the much debated rose oil. The authority, with the antagonist at its head, designates these portals as a problem to the religion's doctrine and endeavors to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to shift from strict reason and back to feeling, yet, her certainty that these locations must be protected – that their meaning and their value is in some way crucial – grows. "The substance, or the extract, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean struggle between innocence and experience is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
