Tings are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that appears, now more than ever, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along new and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is draining from states, and pooling in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the hands of crowds. "Some force is at work, silently, gradually", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and strong are weakening and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Just what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that propels the concluding book, which continues where the previous book ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final foray into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling world he first introduced three decades past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of the real world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the humans appear and reason and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, beings in creature form; where the skies are filled with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but below, buses are taken and drinks is drunk, and older professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the first volume, the origin story with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the prickly and tenacious main character of the previous installments, but aged, more sorrowful, warier, less certain. This circumscription is amplified by her division from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to depart in search of that youthful part of her which she appears to have shed (an trait which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, facing with amazement and danger on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the faith's ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie representation of rigid, bureaucratic wickedness – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's family member, who faults her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the office of leader of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his newfound power to broaden the church's rule. Another protagonist, who carried baby Lyra to safety along a overflowing river as an child in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in espionage: he is sent to the city to discover more about Delamare's intentions. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and valuable botanical extract which manifests somehow to be the origin of a social and economic crisis spreading out from the region. The substance is regarded by certain groups as a marketable good, by alternate groups as a empirical or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a origin of evil; an affront that must be eradicated. The question of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the first series, our protagonist's decisions, and her future, are shown to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran largely in side by side. In this final book, they converge. Like the original series, Lyra's movements and her path are shown to be inextricably linked with the future of the world. Her individual mission to rejoin with her soul and rediscover her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a larger conflict with an authoritarian system which, as these systems often attempt, is attempting to suppress independence of thinking, creativity and art: all the internal, resistant ways in which individuals can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The book starts with the discovery of a collection of unusual openings in the makeup of the planet's sky: gateways that seem to lead to alternate realities. An example of a portal manifests to be the source of the highly contested rose oil. The authority, with its leader at its helm, designates these windows as a challenge to the church's beliefs and sets out to eliminate them. As the heroine begins to shift from rigid rationalism and return to feeling, yet, her conviction that these places must be preserved – that their meaning and their value is in some way crucial – increases. "Dust, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a Blakean tussle between naivety and knowledge is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
