Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that appears, now more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from authorities, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the vaults of corporations, the control of rioters. "An element is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says trader a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and durable are deteriorating and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Just what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which continues where its predecessor ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's concluding venture into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting world he first unveiled in the distant past, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of the real world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and think and behave like us, but are joined by daemons, essences in creature form; where the skies are filled with witches and legendary creatures, but underneath, transports are ridden and beverages is drunk, and older scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which the author began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still distinctly the prickly and determined protagonist of the previous installments, but aged, more sorrowful, more cautious, less certain. This limitation is intensified by her division from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to go off in search of that childlike part of her which she may have forgotten (an quality which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a wandering voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with marvel and peril on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the faith's ruling body, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister incarnation of rigid, administrative evil – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – our protagonist's family member, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the office of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound power to broaden the church's dominium. Another protagonist, who carried young Lyra to security along a flooded Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in espionage: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about the antagonist's aims. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and precious botanical extract which appears in some way to be the source of a social and financial crisis emanating out from Central Asia. The oil is seen by certain groups as a marketable good, by others as a research-based or esoteric miracle, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a origin of malevolence; an insult that must be obliterated. The dilemma of where it comes from, its meaning, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is escalating in importance.
Similar to the original trilogy, the heroine's actions, and her fate, are revealed to be inextricably connected with the destiny of the universe
In the previous volume, these plots ran largely in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. Similar to His Dark Materials, the protagonist's choices and her destiny are shown to be inextricably entwined with the future of the universe. Her private journey to reconnect with her companion and regain her creativity becomes the central battleground in a larger battle with an controlling system which, as such regimes always have, is attempting to suppress autonomy of thinking, creativity and art: all the inner, resistant ways in which people can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The story starts with the finding of a set of strange cracks in the fabric of the world's air: gateways that seem to give on to other worlds. An example of a portal manifests to be the origin of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The authority, with its leader at its leadership, classifies these openings as a threat to the institution's beliefs and sets out to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to move from inflexible reason and return to instinct, however, her belief that these sites must be protected – that what they stand for and their value is in some way crucial – grows. "The substance, or the substance, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean conflict between innocence and maturity is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
