Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, now more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from states, and gathering in the chambers of religious leaders, the coffers of conglomerates, the grasp of rioters. "Some force is at work, very quietly, gradually", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were secure and durable are deteriorating and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Exactly what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that drives the concluding book, which picks up where the previous book ended. This is, reportedly, the author's concluding foray into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating universe he first revealed three decades past, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose geography corresponds to that of the real world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans look and think and behave like us, but are joined by daemons, souls in creature form; where the skies are populated with enchantresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, buses are caught and beverages is consumed, and mature professors carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still clearly the sharp and persistent protagonist of the previous installments, but older, melancholic, more careful, less sure. This circumscription is intensified by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to leave in quest of that youthful part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an quality which he represents as her "vision"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with wonder and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in play, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the church's controlling power, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of rigid, procedural wickedness – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's family member, who blames her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the role of head of the Magisterium's governing body, and is set on using his recently acquired influence to expand the religion's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who saved baby Lyra to safety along a overflowing Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an academic with a sideline in spycraft: he is dispatched to the city to learn more about his aims. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and precious botanical extract which appears somehow to be the cause of a societal and financial disturbance spreading out from that area. The extract is viewed by certain groups as a tradeable good, by alternate groups as a empirical or spiritual phenomenon, and by further factions – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of evil; an challenge that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its origins, what it stands for, and whether it should be destroyed or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the original trilogy, the heroine's deeds, and her fate, are shown to be inextricably entwined with the future of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran broadly in parallel. In the conclusion, they come together. Like the original series, Lyra's movements and her destiny are revealed to be deeply entwined with the fate of the world. Her individual journey to rejoin with her soul and rediscover her creativity becomes the key conflict in a larger battle with an authoritarian regime which, as such authorities always have, is striving to stifle autonomy of thinking, originality and expression: all the inner, defiant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The book begins with the finding of a set of curious cracks in the structure of the planet's sky: windows that look to open into alternate realities. One such opening seems to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The authority, with Delamare at its head, designates these windows as a threat to the institution's orthodoxy and aims to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to move from inflexible reason and revert to intuition, yet, her conviction that these locations must be defended – that their significance and their value is somehow essential – grows. "The substance, or the extract, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a poetic conflict between innocence and knowledge is prepared.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
