Tings are collapsing in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that appears, in this volume especially, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from authorities, and accumulating in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of corporations, the control of crowds. "An element is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the Silk Roads from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were firm and solid are weakening and collapsing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that animates this final volume, which picks up where the previous book ended. This is, reportedly, the author's last foray into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting realm he first revealed three decades past, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose landscape aligns with that of this world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans look and reason and act like us, but are paired by daemons, essences in animal form; where the skies are populated with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, transports are ridden and drinks is consumed, and older academics carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a child in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still clearly the spiky and determined main character of the earlier books, but aged, more sorrowful, more careful, more doubtful. This circumscription is heightened by her split from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to depart in search of that childlike part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with wonder and danger on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the church's ruling body, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of austere, administrative wickedness – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's relative, who faults her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the position of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is determined on using his newfound influence to broaden the church's rule. A key character, who carried young the heroine to security along a flooded Thames as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an university scholar with a sideline in spycraft: he is assigned to a key location to learn more about his intentions. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and precious rose oil which seems somehow to be the source of a social and financial crisis spreading out from that area. The extract is regarded by some as a tradeable product, by alternate groups as a research-based or spiritual miracle, and by further factions – the extremist "highland figures" – as a wellspring of darkness; an insult that must be eradicated. The issue of where it comes from, its meaning, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
Like the original trilogy, Lyra's decisions, and her future, are shown to be deeply entwined with the future of the realm
In the previous volume, these storylines ran largely in parallel. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the first trilogy, her movements and her path are shown to be inseparably linked with the future of the realm. Her individual mission to rejoin with her companion and regain her imagination becomes the central battleground in a larger conflict with an oppressive system which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to stifle autonomy of reason, originality and expression: all the inner, rebellious ways in which humans can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the unveiling of a set of strange openings in the makeup of the planet's air: gateways that appear to lead to alternate realities. An example of a portal seems to be the origin of the much debated botanical substance. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its leadership, labels these windows as a problem to the church's orthodoxy and aims to destroy them. As the heroine begins to shift from strict reason and back to instinct, yet, her belief that these sites must be protected – that what they stand for and what they offer is in some way vital – increases. "Dust, or the substance, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a Blakean conflict between purity and experience is prepared.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
