Things are falling apart in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's grand trilogies set in a world that seems, here more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or restructuring themselves along new and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from governments, and pooling in the offices of theocrats, the vaults of conglomerates, the grasp of crowds. "An element is at work, silently, gradually", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and solid are weakening and failing."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Exactly what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that propels this final volume, which continues where its predecessor concluded. This is, by all accounts, the author's last foray into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling realm he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a world whose geography maps on to that of the real world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the people appear and think and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, souls in animal form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, buses are ridden and drinks is drunk, and middle-aged academics carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the prequel, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a young woman: still distinctly the sharp and persistent main character of the earlier books, but older, sadder, more cautious, less certain. This circumscription is intensified by her split from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to leave in quest of that innocent part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an trait which he represents as her "creativity"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and peril on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in play, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the church's controlling power, and the author's brilliantly sinister embodiment of strict, procedural malice – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – the heroine's relative, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the position of head of the church's High Council, and is determined on using his newfound authority to extend the church's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued infant the heroine to safety along a flooded Thames as an child in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a sideline in spycraft: he is assigned to Geneva to learn more about his intentions. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and valuable rose oil which manifests somehow to be the cause of a societal and economic disturbance rippling out from the region. The oil is viewed by certain groups as a tradeable good, by different parties as a research-based or spiritual wonder, and by others still – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an challenge that must be obliterated. The issue of where it comes from, its meaning, and if it should be eliminated or protected is escalating in importance.
Similar to His Dark Materials, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are demonstrated to be deeply entwined with the future of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran mostly in tandem. In this final book, they converge. Like His Dark Materials, Lyra's actions and her destiny are revealed to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the realm. Her personal journey to reunite with her daemon and recover her imagination becomes the key battleground in a broader war with an controlling system which, as these systems often attempt, is attempting to quell autonomy of reason, innovation and culture: all the internal, rebellious ways in which humans can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The story opens with the discovery of a series of strange openings in the fabric of the planet's atmosphere: windows that seem to open into different dimensions. A particular window manifests to be the source of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The church, with the antagonist at its leadership, designates these portals as a problem to the institution's doctrine and aims to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to move from strict reason and back to intuition, yet, her conviction that these sites must be defended – that what they stand for and what they offer is mysteriously vital – grows. "The substance, or the extract, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a philosophical tussle between innocence and maturity is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
