Tings are falling apart in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's grand trilogies set in a world that seems, in this volume especially, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along new and disturbing 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 states, and gathering in the chambers of religious leaders, the coffers of conglomerates, the control of crowds. "Something is at work, very quietly, gradually", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his place in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and durable are deteriorating and failing."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Exactly what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that propels this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor ended. This is, by all accounts, the author's last foray into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling world he first introduced three decades past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose landscape corresponds to that of the real world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans appear and think and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, essences in beast form; where the skies are teeming with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, vehicles are taken and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged professors carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in the first volume, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still distinctly the sharp and persistent heroine of the earlier books, but older, melancholic, more careful, more doubtful. This restraint is amplified by her split from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that childlike part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with marvel and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in play, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of rigid, procedural evil – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's relative, who blames her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the role of president of the Magisterium's governing body, and is intent on using his newfound influence to expand the church's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who saved young the heroine to safety along a overflowing Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a secondary role in espionage: he is assigned to a key location to find out more about the antagonist's plans. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and valuable botanical extract which seems mysteriously to be the source of a societal and financial crisis emanating out from the region. The oil is regarded by some as a tradeable good, by others as a scientific or esoteric phenomenon, and by further factions – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of evil; an affront that must be obliterated. The issue of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be destroyed or protected is escalating in importance.
As in the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her destiny, are shown to be inseparably linked with the future of the universe
In the previous volume, these plots ran largely in parallel. In this final book, they converge. Similar to the original series, Lyra's actions and her fate are unveiled to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the world. Her private quest to rejoin with her companion and rediscover her vision becomes the primary struggle in a wider war with an oppressive regime which, as such regimes often attempt, is striving to suppress freedom of reason, innovation and culture: all the internal, defiant ways in which individuals can be free.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The story starts with the finding of a series of curious cracks in the makeup of the planet's air: gateways that appear to give on to other worlds. One such window seems to be the origin of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The authority, with the antagonist at its head, labels these portals as a challenge to the church's orthodoxy and aims to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from strict reason and return to instinct, yet, her conviction that these places must be protected – that their significance and what they offer is mysteriously vital – strengthens. "Dust, or the extract, or the vision, or the field of roses, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a Blakean tussle between purity and experience is established.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
