Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a realm that manifests, now more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along new and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from states, and gathering in the offices of religious leaders, the vaults of conglomerates, the hands of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were stable and solid are faltering and failing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels the concluding book, which resumes where the previous book concluded. This is, by all accounts, the author's final foray into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting universe he first introduced 30 years ago, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose terrain corresponds to that of the real world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the people look and think and behave like us, but are paired by daemons, souls in creature form; where the air are populated with enchantresses and gryphons, but below, buses are ridden and beverages is drunk, and middle-aged professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the prequel, the origin story with which the author began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still recognisably the spiky and determined heroine of the prior volumes, but aged, more sorrowful, warier, more doubtful. This limitation is heightened by her separation from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
The daemon's resolve to leave in search of that innocent part of her which she appears to have shed (an trait which he represents as her "imagination"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed Lyra undertake a adventurous journey across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with amazement and danger on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in motion, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the church's governing authority, and the author's deliciously chilling incarnation of austere, procedural wickedness – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – Lyra's uncle, who faults her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the role of leader of the authority's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his newfound influence to extend the religion's control. Another protagonist, who carried young the heroine to refuge along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an academic with a additional duty in espionage: he is assigned to Geneva to find out more about Delamare's intentions. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and precious botanical extract which manifests in some way to be the source of a societal and economic disturbance emanating out from the region. The extract is viewed by certain groups as a commercial commodity, by different parties as a empirical or esoteric phenomenon, and by others still – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a origin of evil; an insult that must be obliterated. The question of where it comes from, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or preserved is becoming urgent.
Like the original trilogy, our protagonist's deeds, and her destiny, are shown to be inseparably connected with the fate of the universe
In the previous volume, these plots ran largely in side by side. In this final book, they converge. Like the original series, Lyra's actions and her destiny are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the world. Her private journey to reunite with her companion and recover her creativity becomes the central conflict in a larger war with an authoritarian regime which, as such authorities often attempt, is striving to quell independence of thought, originality and art: all the inner, resistant ways in which people can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The story starts with the finding of a set of curious cracks in the makeup of the planet's air: gateways that appear to open into alternate realities. An example of a portal manifests to be the source of the highly contested mystical extract. The church, with its leader at its leadership, designates these openings as a threat to the church's orthodoxy and endeavors to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from strict reason and return to instinct, however, her certainty that these locations must be defended – that their meaning and their value is somehow crucial – increases. "The substance, or the substance, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a philosophical struggle between naivety and maturity is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
