Tings are falling apart in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that manifests, now more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is draining from states, and accumulating in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of corporations, the control of mobs. "An element is at work, stealthily, gradually", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and solid are faltering and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that drives the concluding book, which continues where the previous book concluded. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final foray into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating realm he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose landscape corresponds to that of the real world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and reason and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, beings in animal form; where the air are teeming with enchantresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, vehicles are ridden and beverages is consumed, and older professors carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still distinctly the sharp and persistent main character of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, more careful, more doubtful. This limitation is intensified by her division from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to depart in quest of that innocent part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an quality which he represents as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a picaresque voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with amazement and danger on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the church's ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie representation of austere, administrative malice – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's relative, who blames her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the role of leader of the Magisterium's governing body, and is determined on using his fresh influence to broaden the church's control. Another protagonist, who carried infant Lyra to safety along a swollen Thames as an child in La Belle Sauvage, is now an university scholar with a sideline in intelligence work: he is sent to Geneva to learn more about the antagonist's plans. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and valuable rose oil which appears in some way to be the origin of a social and financial crisis spreading out from that area. The extract is regarded by some as a tradeable good, by different parties as a research-based or spiritual phenomenon, and by further factions – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of evil; an affront that must be destroyed. The dilemma of where it comes from, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the original trilogy, the heroine's actions, and her fate, are demonstrated to be deeply connected with the fate of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran broadly in tandem. In this final book, they merge. Like the first trilogy, the protagonist's actions and her path are unveiled to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the world. Her private mission to reconnect with her companion and regain her imagination becomes the key conflict in a broader battle with an controlling government which, as these systems often attempt, is attempting to stifle freedom of thinking, innovation and culture: all the inner, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The book begins with the unveiling of a set of strange cracks in the fabric of the Earth's sky: gateways that appear to lead to different dimensions. One such window seems to be the origin of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its helm, classifies these windows as a challenge to the institution's doctrine and aims to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to move from inflexible reason and return to instinct, however, her conviction that these places must be protected – that what they stand for and their value is mysteriously essential – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a philosophical struggle between purity and knowledge is established.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
