Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that appears, now more than ever, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Organizations are failing, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing 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 flowing away from governments, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of business empires, the control of rioters. "An element is at work, silently, gradually", says trader a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and strong are deteriorating and giving way."
The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that animates the concluding book, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, according to many, the author's concluding foray into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating world he first introduced 30 years ago, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose terrain maps on to that of our world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the humans appear and think and act like us, but are accompanied by daemons, beings in animal form; where the skies are teeming with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, buses are ridden and drinks is consumed, and mature professors carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the prequel, the origin story with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still distinctly the prickly and determined heroine of the prior volumes, but older, melancholic, more careful, less certain. This restraint is intensified by her split from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to leave in search of that innocent part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an trait which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with marvel and peril on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in play, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the religious controlling power, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of strict, administrative malice – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – Lyra's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of president of the Magisterium's High Council, and is determined on using his recently acquired power to extend the religion's dominium. Another protagonist, who rescued young the heroine to safety along a flooded river as an child in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in spycraft: he is assigned to Geneva to find out more about his intentions. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and costly rose oil which seems in some way to be the cause of a social and economic disturbance spreading out from the region. The substance is seen by certain groups as a commercial good, by alternate groups as a scientific or esoteric miracle, and by yet others – the extremist "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of darkness; an insult that must be eradicated. The issue of where it comes from, what it stands for, and whether it should be removed or preserved is becoming urgent.
As in the original trilogy, our protagonist's actions, and her destiny, are revealed to be deeply entwined with the fate of the realm
In the previous volume, these storylines ran broadly in parallel. In this final book, they merge. Similar to the original series, her choices and her destiny are shown to be inextricably woven with the future of the world. Her personal quest to reconnect with her soul and rediscover her imagination becomes the primary conflict in a wider conflict with an authoritarian system which, as such authorities often attempt, is seeking to suppress independence of thinking, creativity and expression: all the personal, resistant ways in which individuals can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The book opens with the finding of a collection of strange cracks in the makeup of the planet's atmosphere: gateways that look to lead to other worlds. An example of a window seems to be the origin of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The authority, with the antagonist at its head, classifies these openings as a threat to the institution's doctrine and sets out to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to move from inflexible reason and back to instinct, yet, her belief that these locations must be preserved – that their meaning and their value is somehow crucial – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or whatever we label it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a poetic struggle between purity and experience is prepared.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
