Things are falling apart in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's masterful trilogies set in a universe that seems, here more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from states, and gathering in the chambers of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the grasp of rioters. "Some force is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his place in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and strong are weakening and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, according to many, Pullman's last venture into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting realm he first revealed in the distant past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a world whose geography aligns with that of this world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and reason and act like us, but are joined by external spirits, essences in beast form; where the heavens are teeming with witches and gryphons, but beneath those skies, vehicles are taken and beverages is sipped, and older academics carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still recognisably the spiky and determined protagonist of the earlier books, but aged, sadder, warier, less certain. This restraint is intensified by her split from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to go off in pursuit of that innocent part of her which she appears to have shed (an quality which he represents as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with amazement and danger on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the church's controlling power, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of austere, procedural wickedness – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of leader of the church's High Council, and is set on using his recently acquired authority to expand the institution's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who saved baby Lyra to safety along a swollen Thames as an child in the first book, is now an academic with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is dispatched to a key location to learn more about his intentions. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and costly botanical extract which manifests somehow to be the origin of a societal and financial upheaval spreading out from the region. The extract is viewed by various factions as a marketable good, by different parties as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a source of evil; an challenge that must be obliterated. The issue of where it comes from, its significance, and if it should be destroyed or protected is escalating in importance.
Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's deeds, and her fate, are revealed to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the world
In its predecessor, these storylines ran largely in tandem. In the conclusion, they come together. As in His Dark Materials, her choices and her fate are shown to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the realm. Her private quest to reunite with her daemon and recover her creativity becomes the central battleground in a larger conflict with an authoritarian government which, as these systems often attempt, is attempting to quell autonomy of thought, originality and culture: all the internal, rebellious ways in which humans can be free.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the finding of a series of strange openings in the makeup of the Earth's sky: windows that look to lead to different dimensions. One such portal manifests to be the source of the highly contested rose oil. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its helm, classifies these portals as a problem to the institution's doctrine and sets out to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to shift from rigid reason and back to instinct, however, her belief that these locations must be preserved – that their significance and what they offer is mysteriously crucial – increases. "Dust, or the extract, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean conflict between purity and maturity is set.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
