Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's masterful trilogies set in a universe that appears, now more than ever, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Organizations are failing, or reorganizing themselves along new and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is draining from states, and gathering in the chambers of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the hands of crowds. "Something is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and strong are weakening and failing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which picks up where its predecessor left off. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's concluding venture into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating realm he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose geography aligns with that of our world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans appear and think and act like us, but are joined by external spirits, souls in creature form; where the air are teeming with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but below, transports are ridden and tea is consumed, and mature scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the prequel, the origin story with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still recognisably the sharp and tenacious protagonist of the earlier books, but aged, melancholic, warier, less sure. This restraint is amplified by her split from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to go off in quest of that childlike part of her which she may have forgotten (an trait which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with marvel and danger on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in action, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the church's governing authority, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of rigid, bureaucratic malice – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. The antagonist – Lyra's relative, who faults her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the position of head of the church's High Council, and is determined on using his recently acquired power to broaden the institution's control. A key character, who rescued young the heroine to refuge along a overflowing river as an child in the prequel, is now an academic with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is assigned to Geneva to discover more about his aims. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and valuable rose oil which manifests somehow to be the origin of a social and economic crisis emanating out from Central Asia. The substance is viewed by certain groups as a commercial commodity, by different parties as a research-based or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a source of darkness; an insult that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be destroyed or protected is becoming urgent.
As in the original trilogy, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are revealed to be deeply linked with the destiny of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran broadly in tandem. In this final book, they converge. As in the original series, her actions and her destiny are shown to be inseparably woven with the fate of the world. Her individual journey to reconnect with her soul and regain her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a wider conflict with an controlling system which, as such authorities always have, is seeking to suppress independence of thought, creativity and expression: all the personal, defiant ways in which people can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The story starts with the finding of a collection of strange openings in the fabric of the world's sky: portals that seem to open into other worlds. An example of a window seems to be the point of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its leadership, labels these windows as a challenge to the religion's orthodoxy and sets out to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from strict rationalism and return to feeling, yet, her certainty that these locations must be protected – that their significance and what they provide is somehow crucial – strengthens. "The substance, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a poetic conflict between purity and experience is prepared.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
