Things are unraveling in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a world that seems, now more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or restructuring themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from authorities, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, silently, gradually", says merchant a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were secure and durable are faltering and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Just what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that animates this final volume, which resumes where the previous book left off. This is, reportedly, the author's final excursion into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling world he first unveiled three decades past, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose terrain aligns with that of this world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and think and behave like us, but are paired by animal souls, essences in animal form; where the heavens are filled with sorceresses and gryphons, but below, transports are taken and beverages is sipped, and middle-aged academics carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a young woman: still clearly the sharp and determined heroine of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, warier, less certain. This circumscription is heightened by her split from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
The daemon's resolve to depart in quest of that childlike part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and risk on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the faith's ruling body, and the author's deliciously chilling embodiment of rigid, procedural wickedness – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's relative, who blames her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of president of the Magisterium's High Council, and is set on using his newfound influence to expand the institution's rule. Another protagonist, who carried young Lyra to refuge along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a sideline in spycraft: he is assigned to Geneva to find out more about his intentions. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and precious rose oil which seems somehow to be the source of a social and economic disturbance emanating out from Central Asia. The substance is regarded by some as a marketable commodity, by alternate groups as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by others still – the extremist "mountain dwellers" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be eradicated. The issue of where it comes from, its meaning, and whether it should be removed or preserved is becoming urgent.
As in His Dark Materials, the heroine's deeds, and her future, are shown to be deeply linked with the fate of the world
In its predecessor, these plots ran largely in side by side. In this final book, they come together. As in the first trilogy, her movements and her fate are revealed to be inseparably woven with the destiny of the universe. Her personal quest to reunite with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the key struggle in a larger war with an oppressive system which, as such regimes typically do, is attempting to quell autonomy of thought, innovation and culture: all the internal, defiant ways in which people can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The book begins with the discovery of a collection of curious cracks in the makeup of the world's atmosphere: windows that look to give on to different dimensions. One such portal manifests to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its helm, designates these windows as a threat to the church's orthodoxy and sets out to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from rigid logic and return to intuition, yet, her conviction that these sites must be protected – that their significance and what they offer is in some way essential – strengthens. "The substance, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a Blakean tussle between purity and maturity is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
