Things are falling apart in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's masterful trilogies set in a world that seems, here more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along new and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from governments, and accumulating in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of conglomerates, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, very quietly, gradually", says businessman a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and strong are faltering and failing."
Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that propels this final volume, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's last foray into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating world he first introduced three decades past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose geography corresponds to that of this world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans appear and reason and behave like us, but are joined by daemons, beings in animal form; where the heavens are populated with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, vehicles are caught and drinks is consumed, and older professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a child in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still distinctly the spiky and tenacious heroine of the previous installments, but aged, sadder, more careful, more doubtful. This limitation is amplified by her separation from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to leave in search of that youthful part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an quality which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with marvel and peril on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in motion, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the church's ruling body, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of rigid, administrative malice – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of president of the authority's High Council, and is intent on using his recently acquired authority to broaden the church's control. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued baby the heroine to safety along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a secondary role in spycraft: he is assigned to Geneva to find out more about the antagonist's intentions. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and valuable essential oil which seems in some way to be the source of a social and financial upheaval emanating out from Central Asia. The substance is seen by various factions as a tradeable good, by different parties as a empirical or spiritual wonder, and by yet others – the extremist "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an challenge that must be obliterated. The issue of its source, its meaning, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in His Dark Materials, our protagonist's decisions, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inseparably linked with the future of the world
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in side by side. In this final book, they merge. As in the first trilogy, the protagonist's choices and her destiny are shown to be inextricably entwined with the future of the universe. Her personal mission to reconnect with her daemon and recover her vision becomes the key struggle in a broader war with an controlling regime which, as such regimes typically do, is striving to suppress freedom of thinking, creativity and culture: all the internal, resistant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The book begins with the discovery of a series of strange fissures in the structure of the Earth's sky: windows that look to lead to different dimensions. A particular portal manifests to be the origin of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The Magisterium, with its leader at its leadership, designates these openings as a threat to the religion's doctrine and endeavors to destroy them. As Lyra begins to turn away from strict reason and return to intuition, nevertheless, her belief that these sites must be protected – that their significance and what they provide is mysteriously crucial – grows. "Dust, or the extract, or the vision, or the field of roses, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a philosophical struggle between innocence and maturity is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
