Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that seems, now more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reorganizing themselves along new and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from authorities, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the vaults of business empires, the hands of rioters. "Something is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes 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 how to counteract it, is the inquiry that drives this final volume, which continues where the previous book left off. This is, according to many, the author's concluding excursion into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling universe he first unveiled three decades past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose terrain aligns with that of this world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, essences in animal form; where the skies are filled with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, buses are taken and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged professors carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still clearly the spiky and determined protagonist of the earlier books, but older, melancholic, warier, less certain. This restraint is intensified by her separation from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that innocent part of her which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he represents as her "imagination"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with amazement and danger on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of strict, bureaucratic evil – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's relative, who faults her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the role of leader of the Magisterium's governing body, and is set on using his recently acquired authority to extend the church's dominium. Another protagonist, who saved baby the heroine to security along a flooded river as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an university scholar with a sideline in espionage: he is sent to a key location to discover more about the antagonist's plans. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and valuable essential oil which seems somehow to be the origin of a societal and economic upheaval spreading out from the region. The extract is regarded by various factions as a marketable product, by others as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by further factions – the zealous "highland figures" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an challenge that must be eradicated. The question of its source, its meaning, and if it should be removed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's actions, and her fate, are revealed to be inseparably connected with the fate of the universe
In the previous volume, these plots ran largely in tandem. In the conclusion, they converge. As in His Dark Materials, the protagonist's choices and her fate are revealed to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the universe. Her personal quest to reconnect with her companion and regain her vision becomes the primary struggle in a broader battle with an authoritarian system which, as such authorities typically do, is seeking to suppress freedom of thinking, originality and culture: all the personal, resistant ways in which people can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The story starts with the discovery of a collection of unusual openings in the structure of the planet's sky: windows that seem to give on to alternate realities. A particular window manifests to be the point of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The church, with Delamare at its helm, labels these portals as a problem to the institution's doctrine and aims to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from strict logic and back to feeling, yet, her certainty that these places must be protected – that what they stand for and what they provide is somehow crucial – grows. "Dust, or the substance, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we call it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a Blakean struggle between naivety and experience is established.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
