Tings are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a world that manifests, here more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or reassembling themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from governments, and accumulating in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of conglomerates, the hands of mobs. "Some force is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were secure and solid are faltering and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that animates the concluding book, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final foray into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling realm he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose terrain maps on to that of the real world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and think and behave like us, but are paired by animal souls, beings in animal form; where the air are filled with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, transports are taken and beverages is consumed, and mature academics carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still clearly the sharp and tenacious heroine of the earlier books, but older, melancholic, more careful, less sure. This circumscription is intensified by her division from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
His choice to leave in quest of that youthful part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and risk on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of austere, procedural evil – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. The antagonist – our protagonist's relative, who blames her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of head of the authority's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his recently acquired authority to extend the institution's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued baby Lyra to safety along a flooded Thames as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is dispatched to the city to learn more about his aims. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and costly rose oil which seems somehow to be the origin of a social and economic disturbance rippling out from the region. The substance is seen by certain groups as a marketable commodity, by others as a scientific or esoteric miracle, and by further factions – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a wellspring of evil; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of where it comes from, its meaning, and if it should be removed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the original trilogy, Lyra's actions, and her destiny, are shown to be inextricably entwined with the fate of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran mostly in side by side. In the conclusion, they converge. As in the first trilogy, Lyra's actions and her fate are revealed to be inseparably entwined with the future of the world. Her personal mission to reunite with her soul and regain her creativity becomes the primary struggle in a broader war with an oppressive government which, as these systems always have, is striving to quell independence of reason, innovation and expression: all the inner, resistant ways in which humans can be free.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The book opens with the unveiling of a series of curious cracks in the makeup of the world's atmosphere: gateways that seem to lead to alternate realities. An example of a opening appears to be the origin of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its leadership, labels these windows as a problem to the religion's doctrine and sets out to destroy them. As Lyra begins to move from strict rationalism and back to intuition, yet, her conviction that these locations must be protected – that their meaning and what they offer is in some way crucial – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a philosophical conflict between naivety and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
