Things are unraveling in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's grand trilogies set in a realm that appears, here more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along new and troubling lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from authorities, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the vaults of conglomerates, the hands of rioters. "Something is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and strong are deteriorating and failing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that animates the concluding book, which picks up where the previous book ended. This is, according to many, the author's final excursion into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating realm he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a world whose geography corresponds to that of the real world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and think and act like us, but are joined by external spirits, beings in animal form; where the air are populated with witches and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, vehicles are caught and tea is drunk, and middle-aged professors carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still recognisably the sharp and tenacious protagonist of the prior volumes, but more mature, melancholic, more careful, less certain. This restraint is intensified by her split from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
The daemon's resolve to go off 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 quest to reunite with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with wonder and risk on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the religious governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie embodiment of rigid, bureaucratic evil – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's relative, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the office of president of the church's governing body, and is set on using his newfound authority to extend the church's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued infant the heroine to refuge along a swollen Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is assigned to a key location to learn more about Delamare's plans. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and precious rose oil which seems somehow to be the origin of a societal and economic upheaval emanating out from that area. The oil is viewed by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by different parties as a research-based or spiritual miracle, and by yet others – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a source of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be eliminated or protected is becoming urgent.
Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's deeds, and her destiny, are revealed to be inextricably linked with the fate of the world
In the previous volume, these storylines ran broadly in parallel. In the conclusion, they come together. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's actions and her path are unveiled to be inextricably woven with the destiny of the realm. Her personal journey to rejoin with her companion and regain her creativity becomes the primary struggle in a larger conflict with an controlling government which, as such regimes typically do, is seeking to suppress freedom of thought, creativity and expression: all the internal, defiant ways in which people can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The novel opens with the unveiling of a series of curious openings in the structure of the Earth's sky: gateways that appear to give on to alternate realities. An example of a opening seems to be the source of the much debated mystical extract. The church, with Delamare at its leadership, labels these openings as a threat to the institution's orthodoxy and aims to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to move from inflexible rationalism and back to instinct, yet, her conviction that these places must be protected – that what they stand for and their value is in some way crucial – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the vision, or the field of roses, or whatever we label it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a philosophical struggle between innocence and experience is set.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
