Tings are falling apart in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a universe that seems, here more than ever, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is draining from governments, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the grasp of rioters. "An element is at work, stealthily, gradually", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the Silk Roads from his place in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and strong are weakening and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Exactly what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that propels the concluding book, which resumes where its predecessor left off. This is, reportedly, the author's last venture into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting universe he first unveiled three decades past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose geography corresponds to that of this world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans appear and think and act like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, beings in animal form; where the heavens are filled with witches and mythical beasts, but below, vehicles are taken and tea is drunk, and mature professors carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the spiky and tenacious main character of the previous installments, but aged, sadder, warier, more doubtful. This circumscription is amplified by her division from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to leave in quest of that childlike part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed the protagonist undertake a picaresque voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with marvel and peril on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in play, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the church's controlling power, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of rigid, administrative malice – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's relative, who faults her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the office of leader of the church's governing body, and is determined on using his newfound influence to expand the religion's control. Another protagonist, who saved young the heroine to refuge along a overflowing Thames as an child in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in espionage: he is sent to a key location to discover more about Delamare's intentions. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and valuable botanical extract which appears in some way to be the source of a social and economic upheaval rippling out from Central Asia. The oil is regarded by some as a commercial commodity, by others as a scientific or mystical miracle, and by yet others – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of malevolence; an challenge that must be destroyed. The issue of where it comes from, its meaning, and whether it should be destroyed or preserved is escalating in importance.
Similar to the first series, Lyra's decisions, and her fate, are demonstrated to be inseparably connected with the fate of the world
In its predecessor, these storylines ran mostly in parallel. In the conclusion, they come together. As in the first trilogy, Lyra's choices and her destiny are shown to be deeply entwined with the future of the universe. Her personal mission to reconnect with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the primary struggle in a wider battle with an oppressive regime which, as such authorities often attempt, is seeking to suppress freedom of thought, originality and art: all the internal, rebellious ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The book begins with the finding of a set of curious cracks in the makeup of the world's sky: windows that look to lead to other worlds. One such portal manifests to be the source of the much debated rose oil. The authority, with Delamare at its leadership, classifies these openings as a challenge to the church's doctrine and sets out to destroy them. As Lyra begins to move from rigid reason and return to instinct, however, her belief that these places must be defended – that what they stand for and what they offer is somehow crucial – increases. "The substance, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we name it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a poetic struggle between naivety and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
