Things are falling apart in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a realm that seems, now more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reorganizing themselves along new and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from governments, and pooling in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the hands of mobs. "Something is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were stable and strong are faltering and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that propels this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final foray into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling world he first revealed 30 years ago, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose geography maps on to that of the real world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and think and behave like us, but are joined by daemons, essences in creature form; where the air are populated with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but below, buses are ridden and drinks is sipped, and older professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still clearly the spiky and tenacious main character of the prior volumes, but more mature, melancholic, warier, more doubtful. This limitation is heightened by her division from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
His choice to leave in pursuit of that innocent part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an trait which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which saw Lyra undertake a wandering trek across the continent and into the mountain region, facing with amazement and danger on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in play, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the religious governing authority, and the author's brilliantly sinister embodiment of rigid, administrative malice – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the office of head of the church's High Council, and is intent on using his fresh power to extend the institution's rule. Another protagonist, who rescued baby the heroine to safety along a flooded river as an child in the first book, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in espionage: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about Delamare's aims. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and precious rose oil which manifests in some way to be the source of a societal and financial disturbance rippling out from the region. The oil is regarded by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by others as a scientific or mystical miracle, and by others still – the extremist "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an challenge that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be destroyed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's deeds, and her future, are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the fate of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran largely in parallel. In this final book, they merge. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's choices and her fate are unveiled to be deeply linked with the destiny of the world. Her individual quest to reunite with her companion and regain her creativity becomes the central battleground in a broader battle with an oppressive system which, as such regimes often attempt, is seeking to stifle autonomy of thought, innovation and expression: all the personal, rebellious ways in which humans can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the discovery of a set of curious fissures in the fabric of the planet's sky: windows that look to open into other worlds. An example of a window manifests to be the source of the highly contested mystical extract. The authority, with the antagonist at its head, designates these windows as a challenge to the institution's beliefs and endeavors to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to move from rigid logic and return to instinct, yet, her certainty that these places must be preserved – that their meaning and their value is somehow essential – strengthens. "Dust, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a Blakean conflict between purity and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
