Tings are unraveling in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that seems, now more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or restructuring themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is draining from authorities, and accumulating in the chambers of religious leaders, the coffers of conglomerates, the hands of mobs. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his place in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and strong are faltering and collapsing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that propels the concluding book, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final excursion into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating realm he first unveiled three decades past, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of the real world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the people appear and reason and act like us, but are paired by daemons, beings in beast form; where the air are populated with witches and gryphons, but beneath those skies, transports are ridden and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged academics carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a child in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in the first volume, the origin story with which the author began the series, is now a adult: still recognisably the spiky and tenacious protagonist of the previous installments, but older, more sorrowful, warier, more doubtful. This limitation is intensified by her division from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to leave in quest of that youthful part of her which she may have forgotten (an quality which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with wonder and peril on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's governing authority, and the author's deliciously chilling embodiment of strict, bureaucratic evil – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's relative, who faults her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the office of president of the authority's governing body, and is set on using his newfound power to broaden the religion's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who saved infant Lyra to refuge along a flooded Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is assigned to Geneva to find out more about his plans. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and valuable essential oil which appears in some way to be the origin of a societal and economic disturbance spreading out from Central Asia. The oil is regarded by various factions as a tradeable product, by others as a research-based or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be obliterated. The issue of its source, its significance, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like His Dark Materials, the heroine's actions, and her destiny, are revealed to be deeply connected with the future of the universe
In its predecessor, these storylines ran largely in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. Similar to His Dark Materials, the protagonist's choices and her destiny are unveiled to be inextricably woven with the future of the universe. Her personal mission to rejoin with her daemon and recover her creativity becomes the primary battleground in a broader war with an authoritarian regime which, as such authorities often attempt, is seeking to quell autonomy of thinking, innovation and expression: all the internal, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The book starts with the finding of a collection of strange openings in the makeup of the planet's sky: portals that seem to give on to different dimensions. A particular window manifests to be the point of the highly contested botanical substance. The authority, with its leader at its helm, classifies these windows as a problem to the institution's doctrine and endeavors to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to shift from rigid rationalism and return to instinct, nevertheless, her belief that these sites must be defended – that their meaning and what they offer is mysteriously crucial – increases. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we name it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a philosophical struggle between innocence and maturity is established.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
