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 manifests, now more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from governments, and gathering in the halls of religious leaders, the treasuries of business empires, the control of rioters. "An element is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were secure and strong are weakening and giving way."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Just what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that animates this final volume, which picks up where the previous book ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's concluding foray into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating world he first revealed 30 years ago, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a world whose landscape maps on to that of this world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and reason and act like us, but are joined by daemons, souls in beast form; where the skies are filled with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, transports are caught and drinks is consumed, and mature academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the prequel, the introductory book with which the author began the series, is now a young woman: still clearly the prickly and determined main character of the prior volumes, but aged, melancholic, more cautious, more doubtful. This restraint is heightened by her division from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to go off in search of that youthful part of her which she appears to have shed (an quality which he represents as her "imagination"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw Lyra undertake a picaresque journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and risk on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in play, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the religious controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of strict, bureaucratic wickedness – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's uncle, who faults her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of president of the church's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound influence to expand the church's control. Another protagonist, who carried baby Lyra to refuge along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an university scholar with a sideline in spycraft: he is assigned to the city to find out more about his intentions. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and valuable botanical extract which appears somehow to be the cause of a societal and economic disturbance emanating out from Central Asia. The substance is viewed by certain groups as a marketable good, by different parties as a scientific or spiritual phenomenon, and by others still – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be eradicated. The issue of where it comes from, its significance, and whether it should be removed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the original trilogy, our protagonist's actions, and her destiny, are shown to be deeply linked with the future of the realm
In the previous volume, these storylines ran mostly in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's movements and her path are unveiled to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the universe. Her individual mission to reunite with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the key struggle in a broader war with an oppressive government which, as these systems often attempt, is attempting to quell autonomy of reason, originality and art: all the personal, defiant ways in which people can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the discovery of a series of unusual openings in the fabric of the planet's air: gateways that seem to give on to different dimensions. One such portal seems to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The Magisterium, with its leader at its leadership, labels these windows as a challenge to the institution's orthodoxy and aims to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from rigid rationalism and return to intuition, yet, her conviction that these sites must be preserved – that what they stand for and what they provide is mysteriously vital – increases. "Dust, or the extract, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a poetic conflict between purity and maturity is established.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
