Tings are unraveling in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that seems, in this volume especially, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from states, and accumulating in the chambers of religious leaders, the vaults of conglomerates, the hands of rioters. "An element is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and strong are weakening and failing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that propels the concluding book, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, by all accounts, the author's final foray into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating world he first unveiled three decades past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose landscape aligns with that of this world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the people appear and think and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, essences in animal form; where the skies are filled with witches and mythical beasts, but underneath, vehicles are caught and drinks is drunk, and mature scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the spiky and tenacious protagonist of the previous installments, but older, melancholic, warier, less sure. This limitation is intensified by her split from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to go off in quest of that youthful part of her which she may have forgotten (an trait which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque trek across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with amazement and peril on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of rigid, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's family member, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the office of president of the church's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his newfound influence to expand the religion's control. Another protagonist, who carried baby Lyra to safety along a overflowing Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a secondary role in spycraft: he is sent to the city to find out more about the antagonist's intentions. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and costly essential oil which manifests somehow to be the source of a social and economic disturbance spreading out from that area. The oil is seen by certain groups as a marketable commodity, by alternate groups as a research-based or mystical miracle, and by further factions – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of evil; an challenge that must be obliterated. The issue of its source, what it stands for, and whether it should be destroyed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's actions, and her fate, are shown to be inseparably entwined with the destiny of the realm
In the previous volume, these storylines ran broadly in tandem. In the conclusion, they merge. Similar to His Dark Materials, the protagonist's movements and her path are revealed to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the universe. Her individual mission to reconnect with her soul and rediscover her vision becomes the key conflict in a larger war with an authoritarian regime which, as such regimes typically do, is attempting to suppress independence of reason, innovation and expression: all the internal, rebellious ways in which humans can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The novel opens with the discovery of a set of unusual cracks in the structure of the planet's sky: portals that seem to lead to different dimensions. A particular window appears to be the point of the much debated botanical substance. The authority, with the antagonist at its head, classifies these openings as a threat to the religion's orthodoxy and sets out to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from strict logic and revert to instinct, yet, her conviction that these sites must be defended – that their significance and what they offer is in some way crucial – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or whatever we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean conflict between naivety and experience is prepared.
Story Tempo and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
