Tings are unraveling in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that seems, here more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is draining from authorities, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the grasp of rioters. "Something is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and solid are weakening and failing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Just what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that animates the concluding book, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, according to many, the author's final venture into the elaborately built, deeply captivating universe he first unveiled in the distant past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a world whose terrain corresponds to that of our world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals look and think and behave like us, but are paired by daemons, essences in beast form; where the heavens are populated with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but below, transports are caught and beverages is sipped, and middle-aged scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the prequel, the origin story with which the author began the series, is now a young woman: still recognisably the prickly and persistent heroine of the prior volumes, but more mature, more sorrowful, more cautious, less certain. This limitation is intensified by her division from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to go off in quest of that innocent part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an trait which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which followed Lyra undertake a wandering voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and peril on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of strict, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's uncle, who blames her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the position of president of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his fresh influence to expand the church's control. Malcolm Polstead, who carried infant the heroine to refuge along a overflowing river as an young boy in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in espionage: he is assigned to a key location to learn more about Delamare's aims. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and valuable essential oil which manifests somehow to be the source of a societal and financial upheaval rippling out from Central Asia. The oil is viewed by certain groups as a marketable product, by alternate groups as a empirical or spiritual miracle, and by others still – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of darkness; an insult that must be destroyed. The dilemma of where it comes from, its significance, and whether it should be destroyed or preserved is escalating in importance.
Like the first series, Lyra's deeds, and her future, are revealed to be inextricably linked with the future of the world
In its predecessor, these narratives ran broadly in parallel. In the conclusion, they converge. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's movements and her destiny are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the future of the universe. Her individual quest to reconnect with her daemon and regain her vision becomes the key struggle in a wider conflict with an controlling government which, as such authorities typically do, is seeking to stifle autonomy of thought, innovation and culture: all the inner, defiant ways in which humans can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The story starts with the unveiling of a series of strange openings in the makeup of the world's atmosphere: portals that look to give on to alternate realities. A particular portal appears to be the origin of the much debated rose oil. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its leadership, labels these portals as a challenge to the institution's doctrine and sets out to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from strict reason and return to instinct, however, her certainty that these locations must be defended – that what they stand for and their value is somehow essential – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or whatever we label it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a philosophical tussle between purity and knowledge is established.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
