Tings are collapsing in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a world that appears, in this volume especially, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reorganizing themselves along new and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from states, and accumulating in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of conglomerates, the control of mobs. "An element is at work, stealthily, gradually", says businessman a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and strong are weakening and giving way."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Just what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which picks up where its predecessor left off. This is, by all accounts, the author's final venture into the elaborately built, deeply captivating universe he first revealed 30 years ago, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a world whose landscape aligns with that of this world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the people appear and think and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, souls in animal form; where the heavens are populated with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, buses are ridden and drinks is drunk, and older professors carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a child in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the prickly and determined heroine of the prior volumes, but older, more sorrowful, more cautious, less certain. This restraint is intensified by her division from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to leave in search of that youthful part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an quality which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with wonder and risk on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in play, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of austere, administrative malice – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. The antagonist – our protagonist's uncle, who blames her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of head of the church's governing body, and is determined on using his fresh influence to extend the church's control. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued baby Lyra to safety along a flooded river as an child in the first book, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in spycraft: he is assigned to a key location to find out more about the antagonist's plans. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and valuable botanical extract which seems in some way to be the origin of a social and economic disturbance rippling out from Central Asia. The oil is viewed by certain groups as a commercial product, by others as a scientific or esoteric phenomenon, and by yet others – the extremist "highland figures" – as a origin of darkness; an insult that must be eradicated. The dilemma of where it comes from, what it stands for, and if it should be removed or protected is escalating in importance.
Similar to the first series, our protagonist's actions, and her future, are demonstrated to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the realm
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in parallel. In the conclusion, they come together. Similar to His Dark Materials, the protagonist's movements and her destiny are shown to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the realm. Her private journey to rejoin with her soul and recover her vision becomes the central battleground in a broader conflict with an authoritarian government which, as these systems typically do, is striving to quell autonomy of reason, innovation and culture: all the personal, resistant ways in which humans can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The book starts with the finding of a collection of strange cracks in the fabric of the planet's air: windows that appear to open into other worlds. One such portal seems to be the origin of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its helm, classifies these openings as a problem to the religion's orthodoxy and endeavors to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from strict logic and revert to instinct, nevertheless, her belief that these locations must be preserved – that what they stand for and what they provide is somehow vital – strengthens. "The substance, or the substance, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a poetic conflict between naivety and maturity is set.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
