Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a world that appears, now more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from authorities, and accumulating in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of business empires, the hands of rioters. "An element is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and solid are deteriorating and failing."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Just what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that drives the concluding book, which picks up where the previous book left off. This is, reportedly, the author's final excursion into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating realm he first unveiled in the distant past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a world whose landscape aligns with that of the real world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the humans look and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, souls in beast form; where the heavens are populated with enchantresses and gryphons, but underneath, buses are caught and drinks is consumed, and older academics carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the prequel, the origin story with which the author began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still distinctly the spiky and determined protagonist of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, more cautious, less certain. This restraint is heightened by her split from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to go off in search of that innocent part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an trait which he represents as her "creativity"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with marvel and peril on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the religious governing authority, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of strict, procedural evil – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's relative, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the office of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is set on using his recently acquired power to broaden the institution's rule. A key character, who saved infant the heroine to safety along a overflowing Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in espionage: he is sent to a key location to find out more about the antagonist's plans. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and precious rose oil which appears in some way to be the origin of a social and economic crisis spreading out from the region. The substance is viewed by some as a tradeable commodity, by alternate groups as a scientific or spiritual wonder, and by further factions – the extremist "highland figures" – as a source of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of where it comes from, what it stands for, and whether it should be removed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the first series, Lyra's actions, and her destiny, are revealed to be inseparably linked with the fate of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran largely in side by side. In this final book, they merge. Similar to the first trilogy, her movements and her destiny are unveiled to be deeply linked with the fate of the world. Her personal journey to rejoin with her companion and recover her creativity becomes the key battleground in a broader conflict with an controlling regime which, as such authorities typically do, is striving to quell independence of thought, innovation and culture: all the personal, resistant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The story begins with the finding of a set of unusual fissures in the fabric of the world's sky: windows that seem to give on to alternate realities. One such portal appears to be the source of the much debated botanical substance. The authority, with Delamare at its head, classifies these openings as a threat to the church's doctrine and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to shift from rigid rationalism and back to instinct, yet, her belief that these places must be protected – that their significance and what they provide is somehow vital – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a philosophical struggle between naivety and knowledge is established.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
