Things are unraveling in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's masterful trilogies set in a universe that manifests, now more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or restructuring themselves along new and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is draining from governments, and pooling in the offices of religious leaders, the treasuries of business empires, the grasp of mobs. "Something is at work, silently, gradually", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and strong are faltering and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that animates the concluding book, which picks up where the previous book ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's concluding excursion into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling realm he first revealed in the distant past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose geography corresponds to that of our world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and think and act like us, but are accompanied by daemons, souls in beast form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and gryphons, but below, transports are taken and drinks is drunk, and older academics carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the prequel, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a mature individual: still clearly the sharp and determined protagonist of the prior volumes, but aged, melancholic, warier, less sure. This restraint is amplified by her division from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to leave in search of that childlike part of her which she appears to have shed (an trait which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which saw Lyra undertake a picaresque trek across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with marvel and risk on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of austere, administrative wickedness – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – Lyra's family member, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the position of head of the Magisterium's governing body, and is determined on using his fresh authority to extend the church's rule. Another protagonist, who carried young the heroine to security along a swollen river as an child in the first book, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in spycraft: he is sent to the city to find out more about the antagonist's intentions. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and precious essential oil which manifests somehow to be the source of a societal and economic upheaval rippling out from that area. The substance is seen by certain groups as a commercial good, by alternate groups as a empirical or spiritual miracle, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a source of malevolence; an challenge that must be destroyed. The issue of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be removed or preserved is escalating in importance.
Similar to His Dark Materials, the heroine's decisions, and her future, are revealed to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the universe
In its predecessor, these narratives ran broadly in side by side. In this final book, they merge. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's choices and her path are unveiled to be deeply woven with the future of the realm. Her individual mission to reunite with her soul and rediscover her vision becomes the key battleground in a larger war with an controlling government which, as these systems often attempt, is striving to suppress freedom of thought, creativity and expression: all the internal, defiant ways in which people can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the unveiling of a series of strange cracks in the makeup of the world's sky: windows that appear to open into different dimensions. One such opening appears to be the source of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The authority, with the antagonist at its helm, classifies these openings as a threat to the church's beliefs and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to shift from strict reason and return to instinct, nevertheless, her belief that these locations must be defended – that their meaning and what they offer is mysteriously vital – increases. "The substance, or the extract, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a philosophical tussle between naivety and experience is prepared.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
