Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that manifests, now more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or restructuring themselves along new and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from governments, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the grasp of mobs. "Something is at work, silently, very subtly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were secure and solid are faltering and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which picks up where its predecessor concluded. This is, according to many, the author's last venture into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling world he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a world whose landscape corresponds to that of our world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the people appear and reason and behave like us, but are joined by animal souls, souls in creature form; where the heavens are populated with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, transports are ridden and beverages is sipped, and mature academics carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the sharp and tenacious protagonist of the previous installments, but older, sadder, more cautious, less sure. This limitation is intensified by her separation from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to depart in pursuit of that innocent part of her which she appears to have shed (an trait which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in action, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of strict, procedural evil – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's family member, who faults her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of head of the church's High Council, and is determined on using his fresh influence to extend the institution's rule. A key character, who saved young the heroine to safety along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an academic with a sideline in spycraft: he is dispatched to the city to find out more about the antagonist's plans. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and precious rose oil which seems somehow to be the cause of a social and financial disturbance spreading out from that area. The oil is viewed by various factions as a marketable product, by alternate groups as a scientific or esoteric miracle, and by yet others – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be obliterated. The question of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
As in His Dark Materials, the heroine's decisions, and her future, are revealed to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the universe
In its predecessor, these narratives ran mostly in tandem. In this final book, they merge. As in the first trilogy, the protagonist's actions and her path are shown to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the realm. Her personal journey to reconnect with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a broader battle with an controlling system which, as such regimes often attempt, is seeking to suppress autonomy of thought, creativity and art: all the internal, rebellious ways in which people can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The novel starts with the unveiling of a collection of strange openings in the fabric of the planet's air: portals that seem to open into different dimensions. A particular portal appears to be the point of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The church, with the antagonist at its leadership, classifies these windows as a threat to the institution's orthodoxy and sets out to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from rigid logic and revert to instinct, nevertheless, her certainty that these sites must be preserved – that their significance and their value is mysteriously essential – increases. "Dust, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean conflict between innocence and maturity is established.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
