Things are unraveling in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a world that appears, in this volume especially, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or restructuring themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is draining from states, and accumulating in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of corporations, the control of mobs. "An element is at work, silently, very subtly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and solid are deteriorating and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Exactly what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that propels this final volume, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last excursion into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling world he first revealed three decades past, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose terrain maps on to that of this world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and reason and act like us, but are joined by animal souls, souls in creature form; where the skies are filled with witches and gryphons, but beneath those skies, vehicles are ridden and tea is consumed, and older academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the sharp and determined heroine of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, more careful, more doubtful. This circumscription is amplified by her separation from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to go off in quest of that innocent part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he represents as her "vision"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and peril on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in motion, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the church's ruling body, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister representation of strict, bureaucratic malice – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the role of president of the Magisterium's governing body, and is intent on using his recently acquired power to broaden the religion's control. Another protagonist, who carried young Lyra to safety along a overflowing Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in espionage: he is sent to Geneva to find out more about Delamare's aims. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and precious botanical extract which appears in some way to be the cause of a societal and financial disturbance rippling out from Central Asia. The substance is seen by some as a marketable product, by alternate groups as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by others still – the zealous "highland figures" – as a wellspring of evil; an affront that must be eradicated. The issue of its source, its significance, and if it should be destroyed or protected is becoming urgent.
Similar to the original trilogy, our protagonist's actions, and her future, are demonstrated to be inextricably connected with the fate of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran largely in side by side. In this final book, they come together. Like the original series, Lyra's actions and her path are revealed to be inextricably linked with the future of the world. Her private journey to rejoin with her companion and regain her vision becomes the central battleground in a wider battle with an oppressive system which, as these systems often attempt, is attempting to suppress independence of thought, innovation and expression: all the internal, rebellious ways in which people can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the finding of a set of unusual cracks in the makeup of the world's air: portals that appear to lead to different dimensions. A particular window appears to be the origin of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The authority, with its leader at its head, labels these openings as a challenge to the church's orthodoxy and sets out to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from strict rationalism and return to feeling, yet, her conviction that these sites must be protected – that their meaning and their value is in some way essential – strengthens. "The substance, or the substance, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a philosophical tussle between naivety and maturity is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
