Things are collapsing in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a universe that manifests, in this volume especially, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from governments, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of business empires, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and durable are deteriorating and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that animates this final volume, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, reportedly, the author's concluding foray into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling realm he first unveiled in the distant past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose geography corresponds to that of this world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, beings in beast form; where the skies are filled with witches and mythical beasts, but underneath, vehicles are caught and beverages is drunk, and middle-aged academics carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still clearly the sharp and determined heroine of the prior volumes, but older, melancholic, warier, more doubtful. This limitation is heightened by her separation from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
The daemon's resolve to depart in quest of that childlike part of her which she seems to have lost (an quality which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous journey across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with marvel and danger on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of austere, procedural malice – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. The antagonist – our protagonist's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the position of head of the authority's ruling assembly, and is set on using his newfound power to broaden the religion's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who carried young the heroine to safety along a swollen river as an child in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in espionage: he is assigned to the city to discover more about his intentions. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and valuable essential oil which seems mysteriously to be the cause of a social and financial crisis spreading out from that area. The substance is regarded by some as a tradeable commodity, by alternate groups as a research-based or mystical miracle, and by yet others – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an challenge that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its origins, what it stands for, and whether it should be eliminated or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
Similar to His Dark Materials, our protagonist's actions, and her future, are shown to be deeply entwined with the fate of the universe
In its predecessor, these narratives ran largely in side by side. In the conclusion, they converge. As in the original series, Lyra's movements and her fate are revealed to be inseparably woven with the destiny of the realm. Her private mission to reunite with her daemon and rediscover her vision becomes the primary battleground in a broader battle with an authoritarian regime which, as such authorities typically do, is striving to stifle autonomy of thought, innovation and art: all the personal, rebellious ways in which humans can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The book begins with the discovery of a series of unusual cracks in the structure of the planet's sky: portals that appear to lead to other worlds. A particular opening seems to be the point of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The authority, with Delamare at its head, classifies these portals as a threat to the institution's doctrine and sets out to eliminate them. As the heroine begins to shift from inflexible reason and return to feeling, however, her belief that these sites must be protected – that what they stand for and what they provide is in some way vital – strengthens. "Dust, or the extract, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a Blakean struggle between purity and experience is set.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
