Tings are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a world that appears, in this volume especially, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along new and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from governments, and gathering in the offices of religious leaders, the vaults of conglomerates, the control of crowds. "Some force is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the Silk Roads from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were secure and strong are deteriorating and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that drives the concluding book, which picks up where the previous book concluded. This is, reportedly, the author's concluding venture into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting world he first introduced 30 years ago, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose landscape corresponds to that of this world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the people look and think and act like us, but are paired by external spirits, beings in animal form; where the air are populated with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but below, vehicles are taken and beverages is consumed, and middle-aged professors carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the prequel, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the spiky and determined protagonist of the prior volumes, but more mature, more sorrowful, more cautious, less sure. This limitation is amplified by her split from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to depart in search of that innocent part of her which she may have forgotten (an trait which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous journey across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with marvel and peril on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's governing authority, and the author's deliciously chilling representation of austere, bureaucratic wickedness – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's relative, who blames her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the office of president of the Magisterium's High Council, and is intent on using his fresh influence to extend the religion's control. A key character, who saved baby the heroine to safety along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in espionage: he is sent to Geneva to discover more about the antagonist's aims. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and valuable rose oil which appears in some way to be the source of a societal and economic crisis emanating out from Central Asia. The oil is viewed by certain groups as a tradeable product, by different parties as a scientific or mystical miracle, and by yet others – the extremist "highland figures" – as a origin of evil; an insult that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Like His Dark Materials, Lyra's actions, and her future, are demonstrated to be deeply linked with the destiny of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they converge. As in the first trilogy, her choices and her destiny are shown to be deeply woven with the fate of the world. Her individual quest to reconnect with her companion and rediscover her vision becomes the primary conflict in a wider war with an controlling system which, as such authorities always have, is attempting to quell independence of reason, originality and art: all the inner, defiant ways in which people can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the discovery of a set of strange cracks in the structure of the world's air: portals that look to lead to alternate realities. One such opening manifests to be the source of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its leadership, classifies these openings as a challenge to the institution's beliefs and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to move from strict rationalism and return to instinct, yet, her belief that these places must be defended – that what they stand for and what they offer is in some way essential – increases. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a Blakean conflict between purity and maturity is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
