Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that seems, now more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along new and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from governments, and gathering in the chambers of theocrats, the coffers of conglomerates, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were secure and strong are faltering and failing."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Exactly what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that animates this final volume, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, according to many, the author's last foray into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling universe he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a world whose terrain aligns with that of our world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and reason and act like us, but are paired by external spirits, essences in animal form; where the skies are teeming with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, transports are taken and beverages is drunk, and older academics carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a young woman: still distinctly the prickly and persistent heroine of the prior volumes, but aged, more sorrowful, more cautious, more doubtful. This circumscription is amplified by her separation from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
The daemon's resolve to leave in search of that innocent part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an quality which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which chronicled Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in action, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie embodiment of austere, administrative malice – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's relative, who blames her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the role of head of the church's governing body, and is intent on using his fresh influence to expand the religion's dominium. Another protagonist, who rescued young Lyra to refuge along a overflowing Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an academic with a sideline in spycraft: he is dispatched to the city to learn more about Delamare's intentions. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and valuable rose oil which appears mysteriously to be the origin of a social and financial crisis rippling out from that area. The oil is viewed by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by alternate groups as a research-based or spiritual wonder, and by yet others – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a source of darkness; an affront that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its source, its meaning, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
As in the first series, the heroine's deeds, and her fate, are revealed to be inseparably linked with the future of the world
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in tandem. In this final book, they come together. Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's movements and her path are revealed to be inseparably entwined with the destiny of the realm. Her personal quest to rejoin with her companion and recover her vision becomes the primary conflict in a broader battle with an authoritarian government which, as such authorities always have, is striving to stifle autonomy of reason, creativity and expression: all the personal, defiant ways in which individuals can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The novel opens with the unveiling of a series of unusual fissures in the structure of the Earth's sky: gateways that look to lead to alternate realities. An example of a portal appears to be the origin of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The Magisterium, with its leader at its leadership, labels these openings as a challenge to the institution's orthodoxy and aims to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from rigid rationalism and return to instinct, nevertheless, her belief that these sites must be protected – that their meaning and what they provide is mysteriously essential – increases. "Dust, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a philosophical tussle between purity and knowledge is established.
Story Tempo and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
