Tings are collapsing in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that appears, in this volume especially, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or restructuring themselves along new and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from governments, and gathering in the chambers of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the control of mobs. "Some force is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and durable are faltering and collapsing."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which picks up where its predecessor ended. This is, reportedly, the author's final excursion into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating realm he first revealed in the distant past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose terrain aligns with that of our world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the people look and think and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, essences in beast form; where the heavens are filled with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but below, vehicles are taken and tea is drunk, and middle-aged professors carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the first volume, the prequel with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still distinctly the prickly and determined protagonist of the earlier books, but more mature, more sorrowful, warier, less certain. This restraint is heightened by her split from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
The daemon's resolve to depart in quest of that childlike part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an trait which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with amazement and danger on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the faith's ruling body, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of rigid, procedural malice – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – our protagonist's family member, who faults her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the role of leader of the church's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his newfound influence to broaden the institution's rule. A key character, who rescued young the heroine to safety along a flooded Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is sent to Geneva to discover more about the antagonist's intentions. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and costly botanical extract which seems mysteriously to be the source of a societal and economic upheaval emanating out from that area. The substance is regarded by some as a marketable product, by different parties as a scientific or spiritual wonder, and by further factions – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a source of darkness; an affront that must be destroyed. The issue of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be eliminated or preserved is escalating in importance.
Like His Dark Materials, our protagonist's actions, and her fate, are revealed to be deeply linked with the destiny of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran largely in parallel. In this final book, they come together. Similar to the original series, Lyra's actions and her destiny are revealed to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the universe. Her personal quest to reunite with her soul and regain her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a wider battle with an controlling government which, as such regimes often attempt, is striving to suppress independence of thinking, innovation and culture: all the internal, rebellious ways in which humans can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the discovery of a set of unusual openings in the fabric of the Earth's sky: windows that seem to open into other worlds. One such window seems to be the point of the highly contested botanical substance. The authority, with its leader at its leadership, designates these openings as a threat to the church's beliefs and sets out to destroy them. As Lyra begins to move from inflexible reason and back to instinct, nevertheless, her belief that these places must be defended – that their meaning and what they offer is mysteriously essential – grows. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a poetic struggle between purity and knowledge is set.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
