Things are unraveling in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a world that manifests, now more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reassembling themselves along new and troubling lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from states, and pooling in the chambers of theocrats, the coffers of business empires, the control of rioters. "Some force is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and strong are deteriorating and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Just what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that propels this final volume, which continues where the previous book concluded. This is, reportedly, the author's concluding foray into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting realm he first introduced in the distant past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose terrain corresponds to that of our world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and behave like us, but are paired by animal souls, essences in beast form; where the heavens are teeming with witches and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, buses are caught and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged academics carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still clearly the prickly and determined heroine of the prior volumes, but more mature, sadder, more cautious, more doubtful. This limitation is intensified by her division from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that youthful part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he represents as her "creativity"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a picaresque journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with wonder and danger on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in play, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the religious controlling power, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of austere, bureaucratic malice – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. The antagonist – the heroine's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the role of leader of the church's governing body, and is set on using his newfound influence to expand the religion's dominium. A key character, who carried young the heroine to refuge along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in espionage: he is assigned to Geneva to learn more about his intentions. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and costly botanical extract which seems in some way to be the origin of a social and financial disturbance rippling out from the region. The extract is viewed by some as a commercial product, by alternate groups as a research-based or mystical miracle, and by others still – the zealous "highland figures" – as a origin of evil; an insult that must be obliterated. The issue of its source, its significance, and whether it should be eliminated or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like His Dark Materials, our protagonist's deeds, and her destiny, are shown to be inextricably connected with the fate of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran largely in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. As in the first trilogy, her choices and her path are revealed to be inextricably linked with the future of the universe. Her individual quest to reunite with her soul and rediscover her creativity becomes the key battleground in a broader conflict with an authoritarian system which, as these systems typically do, is seeking to suppress independence of thought, innovation and culture: all the internal, rebellious ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The book opens with the discovery of a collection of unusual fissures in the makeup of the planet's atmosphere: portals that seem to lead to different dimensions. One such window appears to be the point of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with Delamare at its leadership, labels these windows as a problem to the institution's doctrine and aims to eliminate them. As the heroine begins to shift from strict logic and return to instinct, nevertheless, her certainty that these locations must be preserved – that their meaning and their value is in some way crucial – strengthens. "Dust, or the substance, or the vision, or the field of roses, or whatever we name it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a poetic tussle between innocence and maturity is prepared.
Story Tempo and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
