Tings are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's masterful trilogies set in a world that manifests, in this volume especially, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from governments, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the vaults of business empires, the hands of crowds. "An element is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and solid are deteriorating and giving way."
The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that animates the concluding book, which picks up where its predecessor left off. This is, according to many, Pullman's last venture into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling world he first revealed 30 years ago, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose terrain maps on to that of our world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the people appear and reason and act like us, but are joined by external spirits, beings in animal form; where the air are populated with witches and mythical beasts, but below, transports are taken and beverages is sipped, and older professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still recognisably the sharp and tenacious main character of the earlier books, but more mature, sadder, warier, more doubtful. This limitation is heightened by her division from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to go off in pursuit of that childlike part of her which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which saw the protagonist undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the mountain region, facing with wonder and peril on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in action, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of rigid, procedural evil – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's uncle, who blames her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of leader of the church's governing body, and is intent on using his newfound authority to broaden the religion's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who saved young Lyra to refuge along a flooded Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in espionage: he is assigned to the city to learn more about Delamare's plans. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and valuable rose oil which manifests in some way to be the cause of a social and financial upheaval rippling out from that area. The oil is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable product, by others as a scientific or mystical miracle, and by others still – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a origin of darkness; an challenge that must be destroyed. The dilemma of where it comes from, what it stands for, and whether it should be destroyed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like His Dark Materials, the heroine's decisions, and her fate, are revealed to be inextricably connected with the future of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they merge. Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's movements and her path are revealed to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the world. Her personal quest to reconnect with her companion and regain her creativity becomes the primary battleground in a wider war with an oppressive regime which, as such authorities typically do, is striving to suppress autonomy of reason, creativity and expression: all the internal, rebellious ways in which humans can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The story starts with the discovery of a series of curious openings in the fabric of the planet's atmosphere: portals that look to lead to alternate realities. A particular portal appears to be the point of the much debated mystical extract. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its helm, labels these portals as a challenge to the religion's doctrine and aims to destroy them. As Lyra begins to move from strict rationalism and revert to instinct, nevertheless, her certainty that these locations must be preserved – that what they stand for and what they offer is mysteriously vital – strengthens. "Dust, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a philosophical struggle between naivety and knowledge is established.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
