Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that appears, in this volume especially, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reassembling themselves along new and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from governments, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the hands of rioters. "An element is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were stable and strong are deteriorating and failing."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that animates the concluding book, which resumes where its predecessor concluded. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last excursion into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating world he first unveiled three decades past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a world whose geography maps on to that of the real world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the people appear and reason and behave like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, souls in animal form; where the air are teeming with witches and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, buses are caught and drinks is consumed, and older professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the first volume, the prequel with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still recognisably the prickly and determined protagonist of the earlier books, but more mature, sadder, more careful, more doubtful. This circumscription is intensified by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that childlike part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an trait which he represents as her "imagination"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with marvel and risk on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in motion, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the church's governing authority, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of austere, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. The antagonist – our protagonist's family member, who faults her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the office of head of the authority's governing body, and is determined on using his recently acquired influence to extend the religion's control. Another protagonist, who rescued infant Lyra to safety along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an academic with a sideline in spycraft: he is dispatched to Geneva to discover more about the antagonist's intentions. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and precious essential oil which appears mysteriously to be the cause of a social and economic upheaval spreading out from the region. The substance is seen by certain groups as a marketable good, by others as a empirical or esoteric phenomenon, and by others still – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of evil; an challenge that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be removed or protected is escalating in importance.
As in the first series, the heroine's deeds, and her future, are demonstrated to be inextricably linked with the future of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran largely in parallel. In this final book, they come together. Like His Dark Materials, Lyra's movements and her path are unveiled to be deeply linked with the destiny of the world. Her private mission to reconnect with her soul and regain her imagination becomes the primary struggle in a wider battle with an controlling system which, as such authorities always have, is attempting to quell autonomy of thinking, creativity and culture: all the personal, defiant ways in which people can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The book opens with the unveiling of a collection of curious cracks in the makeup of the planet's atmosphere: windows that look to lead to other worlds. An example of a opening seems to be the source of the much debated mystical extract. The church, with its leader at its head, designates these openings as a problem to the institution's doctrine and aims to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from inflexible rationalism and return to instinct, nevertheless, her conviction that these places must be defended – that their significance and what they offer is mysteriously essential – increases. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a philosophical conflict between innocence and maturity is set.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
