Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, here more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or reassembling themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from states, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the coffers of conglomerates, the hands of rioters. "Some force is at work, silently, gradually", says businessman a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his place in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and solid are faltering and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Precisely what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that animates this final volume, which continues where the previous book concluded. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final foray into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling universe he first unveiled three decades past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a world whose terrain aligns with that of our world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and think and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, essences in beast form; where the skies are populated with sorceresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, transports are caught and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the prickly and persistent protagonist of the earlier books, but older, sadder, more careful, less certain. This restraint is heightened by her division from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
The daemon's resolve to go off in search of that youthful part of her which she seems to have lost (an trait which he represents as her "vision"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with marvel and peril on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in action, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the faith's ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of rigid, procedural malice – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's uncle, who faults her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the office of president of the authority's governing body, and is determined on using his newfound authority to expand the church's rule. Another protagonist, who rescued young Lyra to safety along a flooded Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in intelligence work: he is dispatched to the city to discover more about Delamare's intentions. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and valuable essential oil which manifests in some way to be the source of a societal and economic upheaval emanating out from the region. The substance is seen by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by alternate groups as a empirical or spiritual miracle, and by yet others – the extremist "mountain dwellers" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its origins, its significance, and if it should be removed or protected is becoming urgent.
Like the first series, the heroine's decisions, and her future, are shown to be inextricably connected with the future of the realm
In the previous volume, these storylines ran largely in parallel. In the conclusion, they come together. Like His Dark Materials, her choices and her path are shown to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the realm. Her individual journey to rejoin with her companion and regain her creativity becomes the central struggle in a wider conflict with an controlling regime which, as such regimes often attempt, is attempting to suppress autonomy of reason, innovation and art: all the internal, defiant ways in which people can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The book begins with the unveiling of a series of curious openings in the fabric of the world's sky: gateways that seem to open into different dimensions. A particular window seems to be the origin of the much debated rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its leadership, classifies these openings as a challenge to the religion's doctrine and sets out to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to move from inflexible rationalism and return to intuition, yet, her conviction that these locations must be preserved – that their significance and their value is somehow vital – strengthens. "Dust, or the substance, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a poetic struggle between naivety and maturity is prepared.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
