Tings are unraveling in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a world that seems, now more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reassembling themselves along new and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from authorities, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the vaults of conglomerates, the grasp of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, gradually", says merchant a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the Silk Roads from his place in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and strong are weakening and giving way."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that drives this final volume, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last foray into the elaborately built, deeply captivating world he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose geography corresponds to that of the real world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and reason and act like us, but are joined by animal souls, essences in animal form; where the heavens are populated with witches and gryphons, but beneath those skies, transports are ridden and beverages is consumed, and middle-aged scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still clearly the prickly and persistent heroine of the previous installments, but aged, more sorrowful, warier, less certain. This restraint is intensified by her split from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
The daemon's resolve to go off in pursuit of that youthful part of her which she seems to have lost (an quality which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a wandering trek across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with wonder and risk on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of rigid, procedural evil – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the role of leader of the church's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his fresh influence to extend the church's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who saved young Lyra to security along a swollen Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is dispatched to a key location to learn more about Delamare's intentions. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and precious botanical extract which manifests mysteriously to be the cause of a societal and financial crisis emanating out from the region. The oil is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable commodity, by others as a research-based or mystical phenomenon, and by others still – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The question of its origins, its significance, and if it should be destroyed or preserved is escalating in importance.
Like His Dark Materials, Lyra's decisions, and her destiny, are revealed to be inseparably linked with the fate of the world
In the previous volume, these narratives ran broadly in parallel. In this final book, they merge. Like His Dark Materials, her actions and her fate are unveiled to be inseparably woven with the destiny of the universe. Her private journey to rejoin with her companion and regain her vision becomes the primary struggle in a wider conflict with an controlling government which, as these systems always have, is attempting to stifle autonomy of thought, innovation and expression: all the inner, resistant ways in which individuals can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The book starts with the finding of a series of strange openings in the structure of the world's atmosphere: windows that look to give on to other worlds. An example of a window seems to be the origin of the highly contested mystical extract. The authority, with its leader at its leadership, labels these openings as a problem to the religion's beliefs and endeavors to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to move from inflexible reason and back to intuition, yet, her belief that these places must be defended – that their meaning and their value is somehow crucial – strengthens. "The substance, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a poetic tussle between naivety and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
