Things are falling apart in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, here more than ever, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from governments, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the vaults of business empires, the hands of crowds. "An element is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says trader a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and durable are weakening and collapsing."
Key Puzzle and Her Quest
Exactly what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that propels this final volume, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, according to many, the author's final excursion into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating realm he first unveiled in the distant past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose geography maps on to that of the real world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the people look and think and act like us, but are joined by daemons, souls in beast form; where the skies are teeming with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, vehicles are taken and tea is sipped, and older academics carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which the author began the series, is now a adult: still distinctly the sharp and tenacious heroine of the prior volumes, but aged, more sorrowful, more careful, less sure. This restraint is intensified by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to depart in quest of that innocent part of her which she appears to have shed (an trait which he represents as her "vision"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of rigid, administrative wickedness – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's relative, who blames her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of leader of the authority's governing body, and is set on using his newfound influence to broaden the religion's rule. Another protagonist, who carried infant Lyra to safety along a overflowing Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in espionage: he is sent to the city to learn more about his aims. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and valuable essential oil which manifests somehow to be the source of a social and economic upheaval spreading out from the region. The extract is viewed by certain groups as a commercial commodity, by different parties as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by further factions – the extremist "highland figures" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an insult that must be destroyed. The issue of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be eliminated or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's actions, and her destiny, are revealed to be inseparably linked with the future of the world
In the previous volume, these plots ran broadly in side by side. In the conclusion, they merge. As in His Dark Materials, the protagonist's actions and her destiny are unveiled to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the world. Her private journey to rejoin with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the central struggle in a wider battle with an oppressive government which, as these systems typically do, is striving to stifle autonomy of thinking, originality and expression: all the personal, rebellious ways in which humans can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The novel opens with the discovery of a series of curious fissures in the fabric of the planet's sky: portals that look to open into other worlds. One such opening manifests to be the origin of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its head, classifies these windows as a challenge to the religion's beliefs and sets out to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to move from strict rationalism and revert to instinct, yet, her certainty that these places must be protected – that their significance and their value is somehow essential – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a Blakean struggle between naivety and knowledge is set.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the