Things are falling apart in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that appears, here more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from authorities, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of corporations, the control of mobs. "An element is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were secure and durable are deteriorating and collapsing."
Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that animates this final volume, which picks up where its predecessor ended. This is, according to many, the author's final foray into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting universe he first revealed three decades past, 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 individuals look and reason and behave like us, but are paired by daemons, souls in animal form; where the heavens are populated with witches and legendary creatures, but below, buses are taken and tea is consumed, and mature academics carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still recognisably the prickly and tenacious heroine of the earlier books, but older, more sorrowful, more careful, less certain. This circumscription is heightened by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
His choice to leave in quest of that innocent part of her which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and danger on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister representation of rigid, bureaucratic malice – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's uncle, who faults her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of head of the authority's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his newfound authority to broaden the religion's dominium. Another protagonist, who rescued infant the heroine to security along a flooded Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is sent to the city to discover more about Delamare's aims. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and valuable botanical extract which seems in some way to be the cause of a social and financial crisis emanating out from that area. The substance is regarded by various factions as a marketable good, by alternate groups as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by others still – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a origin of darkness; an affront that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be removed or protected is becoming urgent.
Similar to the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her future, are demonstrated to be deeply entwined with the future of the world
In the previous volume, these storylines ran largely in parallel. In this final book, they converge. Similar to the original series, her choices and her path are unveiled to be inextricably woven with the future of the world. Her individual journey to rejoin with her companion and regain her imagination becomes the primary battleground in a broader battle with an controlling system which, as these systems often attempt, is seeking to suppress freedom of thought, innovation and culture: all the inner, defiant ways in which people can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The story begins with the unveiling of a collection of strange cracks in the fabric of the Earth's atmosphere: portals that appear to give on to alternate realities. One such portal seems to be the point of the much debated mystical extract. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its leadership, classifies these openings as a problem to the institution's beliefs and aims to destroy them. As Lyra begins to shift from rigid logic and return to intuition, yet, her belief that these places must be preserved – that their significance and what they offer is somehow vital – increases. "The substance, or the substance, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a poetic struggle between naivety and knowledge is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
