Things are falling apart in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that manifests, now more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along new and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is draining from states, and gathering in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of business empires, the hands of mobs. "An element is at work, stealthily, gradually", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and durable are faltering and giving way."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that drives this final volume, which picks up where the previous book ended. This is, by all accounts, the author's concluding foray into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting realm he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose geography maps on to that of the real world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the people look and reason and act like us, but are paired by external spirits, souls in beast form; where the air are filled with enchantresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, buses are caught and tea is sipped, and older scholars carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the prequel, the introductory book with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still distinctly the sharp and determined heroine of the previous installments, but aged, sadder, more cautious, more doubtful. This restraint is intensified by her division from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to leave in pursuit of that innocent part of her which she may have forgotten (an trait which he represents as her "creativity"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with marvel and peril on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the faith's governing authority, and the author's masterfully eerie embodiment of strict, administrative malice – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's family member, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the office of president of the church's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound power to extend the religion's control. Another protagonist, who rescued young Lyra to security along a swollen Thames as an young boy in La Belle Sauvage, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in espionage: he is sent to a key location to learn more about his plans. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and costly botanical extract which manifests mysteriously to be the source of a social and financial disturbance emanating out from that area. The oil is seen by various factions as a commercial commodity, by alternate groups as a scientific or esoteric miracle, and by others still – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a source of darkness; an affront that must be eradicated. The issue of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
As in the original trilogy, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are shown to be inseparably entwined with the fate of the universe
In its predecessor, these storylines ran mostly in parallel. In the conclusion, they converge. Like His Dark Materials, Lyra's actions and her fate are unveiled to be inextricably woven with the destiny of the world. Her individual mission to rejoin with her companion and regain her creativity becomes the key conflict in a larger conflict with an controlling regime which, as such authorities often attempt, is seeking to suppress autonomy of thought, innovation and culture: all the inner, defiant ways in which humans can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The novel starts with the unveiling of a set of unusual openings in the fabric of the planet's atmosphere: portals that look to give on to other worlds. An example of a window seems to be the source of the highly contested mystical extract. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its helm, designates these portals as a problem to the religion's beliefs and aims to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to move from strict rationalism and return to instinct, yet, her certainty that these locations must be defended – that their meaning and what they provide is in some way crucial – strengthens. "The substance, or the extract, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we name it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a Blakean struggle between purity and maturity is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
