Tings are collapsing in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that manifests, here more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from governments, and gathering in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of corporations, the control of mobs. "Some force is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and durable are weakening and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Her Quest
Precisely what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which continues where the previous book concluded. This is, according to many, the author's final foray into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting realm he first introduced 30 years ago, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose geography maps on to that of the real world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans appear and think and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, souls in creature form; where the skies are filled with witches and mythical beasts, but underneath, buses are taken and beverages is sipped, and older professors carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still recognisably the spiky and determined main character of the prior volumes, but older, melancholic, warier, less certain. This restraint is heightened by her split from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to go off in pursuit of that youthful part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an trait which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which followed Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with marvel and danger on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in action, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the church's ruling body, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister representation of austere, procedural malice – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's family member, who blames her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the position of leader of the church's governing body, and is determined on using his recently acquired influence to extend the religion's rule. Another protagonist, who rescued infant Lyra to security along a overflowing Thames as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in intelligence work: he is sent to the city to learn more about the antagonist's intentions. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and precious rose oil which manifests somehow to be the origin of a social and financial upheaval spreading out from that area. The extract is regarded by various factions as a commercial product, by alternate groups as a research-based or esoteric miracle, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a origin of evil; an challenge that must be obliterated. The issue of its origins, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or protected is becoming urgent.
As in the original trilogy, Lyra's actions, and her destiny, are revealed to be inseparably connected with the future of the world
In the previous volume, these storylines ran broadly in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. Similar to the first trilogy, the protagonist's choices and her destiny are revealed to be deeply woven with the fate of the realm. Her individual quest to reunite with her soul and regain her vision becomes the primary struggle in a broader battle with an controlling system which, as such regimes always have, is attempting to quell autonomy of reason, innovation and expression: all the personal, defiant ways in which people can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The story begins with the unveiling of a series of curious cracks in the fabric of the Earth's air: portals that appear to lead to alternate realities. A particular window manifests to be the source of the highly contested rose oil. The authority, with the antagonist at its head, designates these openings as a challenge to the religion's beliefs and aims to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from inflexible rationalism and return to intuition, nevertheless, her belief that these locations must be preserved – that their meaning and what they provide is mysteriously vital – grows. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a poetic struggle between naivety and experience is established.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
