Tings are unraveling in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that manifests, here more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from governments, and accumulating in the offices of religious leaders, the vaults of corporations, the control of crowds. "Something is at work, silently, gradually", says businessman a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his seat in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and strong are deteriorating and failing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that propels this final volume, which continues where the previous book concluded. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's concluding venture into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling world he first revealed three decades past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of the real world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the humans look and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, essences in creature form; where the skies are populated with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, buses are caught and drinks is sipped, and middle-aged academics carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still clearly the sharp and determined heroine of the previous installments, but aged, sadder, more cautious, less certain. This restraint is amplified by her split from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to go off in quest of that childlike part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an trait which he represents as her "creativity"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which saw the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with marvel and risk on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in play, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the church's controlling power, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of rigid, procedural evil – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's family member, who faults her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the role of leader of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his newfound influence to extend the church's control. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued baby Lyra to refuge along a overflowing Thames as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a sideline in intelligence work: he is dispatched to the city to discover more about Delamare's plans. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and precious rose oil which appears in some way to be the cause of a societal and financial crisis emanating out from the region. The oil is regarded by some as a marketable product, by others as a research-based or esoteric phenomenon, and by others still – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a origin of darkness; an insult that must be eradicated. The issue of its source, what it stands for, and if it should be removed or preserved is escalating in importance.
Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's deeds, and her future, are revealed to be inextricably connected with the fate of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran largely in side by side. In this final book, they converge. As in His Dark Materials, her actions and her fate are unveiled to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the world. Her individual mission to rejoin with her soul and rediscover her creativity becomes the central struggle in a larger war with an controlling government which, as such authorities often attempt, is striving to quell independence of thinking, creativity and culture: all the personal, defiant ways in which individuals can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The novel opens with the finding of a series of curious fissures in the makeup of the world's air: portals that look to give on to alternate realities. One such window appears to be the origin of the much debated rose oil. The authority, with Delamare at its helm, classifies these windows as a challenge to the religion's doctrine and aims to destroy them. As the heroine begins to shift from rigid reason and revert to instinct, however, her conviction that these places must be protected – that their meaning and what they offer is in some way vital – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean struggle between innocence and experience is established.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
