Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that appears, in this volume especially, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reassembling themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from governments, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the control of rioters. "An element is at work, very quietly, gradually", says merchant a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were secure and solid are deteriorating and failing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that drives this final volume, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's concluding excursion into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling world he first unveiled in the distant past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose landscape corresponds to that of this world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans look and think and behave like us, but are paired by daemons, beings in creature form; where the heavens are teeming with witches and legendary creatures, but underneath, vehicles are ridden and tea is sipped, and middle-aged professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still recognisably the spiky and tenacious main character of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, warier, less sure. This limitation is intensified by her separation from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
His choice to depart in search of that youthful part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous journey across the continent and into the mountain region, facing with amazement and danger on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in play, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the religious governing authority, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of rigid, administrative evil – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's relative, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the position of president of the church's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his recently acquired influence to broaden the religion's control. Malcolm Polstead, who saved young Lyra to refuge along a flooded Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in spycraft: he is assigned to the city to discover more about his intentions. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and costly essential oil which manifests in some way to be the origin of a social and economic crisis spreading out from that area. The substance is viewed by various factions as a commercial product, by others as a empirical or spiritual miracle, and by others still – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a origin of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its source, its significance, and if it should be destroyed or preserved is escalating in importance.
Similar to the first series, the heroine's actions, and her future, are demonstrated to be deeply connected with the fate of the realm
In its predecessor, these plots ran largely in side by side. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to His Dark Materials, her actions and her destiny are revealed to be inextricably woven with the fate of the universe. Her personal mission to reunite with her soul and rediscover her creativity becomes the primary battleground in a larger war with an controlling system which, as such authorities always have, is seeking to suppress freedom of thinking, creativity and art: all the internal, resistant ways in which individuals can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The story opens with the unveiling of a collection of strange cracks in the makeup of the Earth's sky: gateways that seem to give on to alternate realities. One such opening appears to be the point of the much debated botanical substance. The church, with the antagonist at its helm, classifies these portals as a problem to the institution's beliefs and aims to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to shift from strict reason and return to feeling, however, her conviction that these places must be protected – that their significance and what they provide is somehow essential – strengthens. "Dust, or the extract, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a philosophical tussle between naivety and experience is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
