Things are falling apart in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a realm that seems, here more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or restructuring themselves along new 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 draining from authorities, and gathering in the chambers of theocrats, the vaults of business empires, the hands of rioters. "Something is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and solid are deteriorating and giving way."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Just what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that animates this final volume, which continues where its predecessor concluded. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last foray into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting realm he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose geography maps on to that of our world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and reason and behave like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, souls in animal form; where the air are filled with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, transports are ridden and drinks is consumed, and older academics carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a child in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the sharp and tenacious heroine of the earlier books, but aged, more sorrowful, more careful, less certain. This limitation is intensified by her separation from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to depart in quest of that childlike part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with wonder and danger on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in motion, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the religious governing authority, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of strict, procedural evil – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's uncle, who faults her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is determined on using his newfound authority to broaden the religion's dominium. Another protagonist, who rescued infant Lyra to safety along a swollen Thames as an child in the first book, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in espionage: he is dispatched to the city to find out more about the antagonist's intentions. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and costly essential oil which manifests somehow to be the origin of a societal and financial crisis spreading out from that area. The oil is viewed by some as a marketable product, by alternate groups as a scientific or esoteric miracle, and by yet others – the extremist "highland figures" – as a origin of darkness; an affront that must be eradicated. The issue of its source, its meaning, and if it should be removed or protected is becoming urgent.
Like the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her future, are shown to be deeply entwined with the fate of the world
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in parallel. In this final book, they converge. Similar to His Dark Materials, her choices and her destiny are revealed to be deeply entwined with the fate of the world. Her private quest to reconnect with her daemon and recover her imagination becomes the primary struggle in a broader war with an oppressive regime which, as such authorities often attempt, is seeking to stifle freedom of thought, creativity and culture: all the personal, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The book starts with the finding of a collection of unusual cracks in the fabric of the planet's air: gateways that look to open into other worlds. One such window manifests to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its leadership, designates these openings as a threat to the religion's doctrine and sets out to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to shift from strict reason and back to feeling, nevertheless, her certainty that these locations must be protected – that their significance and what they offer is in some way vital – grows. "The substance, or the extract, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a philosophical conflict between purity and knowledge is established.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
