Things are falling apart in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that manifests, in this volume especially, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Organizations are failing, or restructuring themselves along new and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is draining from authorities, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the hands of rioters. "An element is at work, silently, gradually", says businessman a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and durable are faltering and failing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Just what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that propels this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last excursion into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating universe he first revealed three decades past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose geography aligns with that of the real world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, essences in creature form; where the heavens are populated with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, transports are taken and tea is sipped, and mature academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a child in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the prequel, the origin story with which the author began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still clearly the spiky and tenacious main character of the prior volumes, but more mature, sadder, more cautious, more doubtful. This limitation is intensified by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to leave in pursuit of that innocent part of her which she may have forgotten (an quality which he represents as her "imagination"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and peril on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in play, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the faith's governing authority, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of austere, administrative wickedness – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. The antagonist – Lyra's family member, who faults her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is determined on using his newfound authority to expand the institution's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who saved infant the heroine to refuge along a overflowing river as an child in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is sent to Geneva to discover more about his intentions. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and valuable essential oil which manifests in some way to be the cause of a social and economic disturbance rippling out from Central Asia. The extract is seen by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by different parties as a empirical or esoteric miracle, and by further factions – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of darkness; an insult that must be destroyed. The dilemma of where it comes from, what it stands for, and if it should be destroyed or preserved is becoming urgent.
As in His Dark Materials, our protagonist's actions, and her future, are demonstrated to be deeply connected with the fate of the world
In its predecessor, these narratives ran largely in side by side. In the conclusion, they converge. As in the first trilogy, Lyra's movements and her destiny are unveiled to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the universe. Her private quest to reconnect with her soul and recover her vision becomes the central conflict in a larger conflict with an authoritarian system which, as such regimes often attempt, is striving to suppress freedom of thought, innovation and culture: all the personal, resistant ways in which people can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The novel begins with the finding of a collection of curious cracks in the fabric of the planet's sky: windows that seem to open into other worlds. One such opening appears to be the point of the highly contested mystical extract. The church, with Delamare at its helm, classifies these windows as a problem to the religion's doctrine and endeavors to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from inflexible logic and return to instinct, yet, her certainty that these places must be preserved – that their meaning and their value is somehow vital – grows. "The substance, or the extract, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a Blakean struggle between innocence and knowledge is established.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
