Things are collapsing in the final volume 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 energized and slanted version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or reassembling themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is draining from authorities, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the grasp of crowds. "Some force is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and solid are deteriorating and giving way."
The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path
Just what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that drives this final volume, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final foray into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting world he first introduced in the distant past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose geography corresponds to that of this world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals look and think and act like us, but are joined by external spirits, essences in beast form; where the skies are teeming with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, vehicles are caught and tea is drunk, and older professors carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still recognisably the sharp and tenacious protagonist of the prior volumes, but more mature, melancholic, warier, less certain. 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.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in quest of that childlike part of her which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he represents as her "vision"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which followed Lyra undertake a picaresque journey across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with marvel and peril on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the church's governing authority, and the author's brilliantly sinister embodiment of rigid, administrative wickedness – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's uncle, who blames her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the role of president of the church's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his fresh power to extend the institution's control. Another protagonist, who rescued infant Lyra to safety along a flooded river as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in spycraft: he is sent to a key location to find out more about the antagonist's intentions. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and precious botanical extract which appears somehow to be the origin of a societal and economic crisis emanating out from that area. The substance is viewed by certain groups as a tradeable product, by others as a scientific or mystical miracle, and by yet others – the extremist "highland figures" – as a origin of evil; an challenge that must be obliterated. The issue of its source, what it stands for, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
Like the first series, Lyra's actions, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inextricably linked with the future of the world
In its predecessor, these plots ran broadly in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. As in His Dark Materials, Lyra's movements and her destiny are shown to be deeply woven with the destiny of the world. Her personal mission to rejoin with her soul and regain her imagination becomes the primary struggle in a wider battle with an authoritarian system which, as these systems typically do, is seeking to quell freedom of thinking, creativity and art: all the personal, rebellious ways in which humans can be free.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The book begins with the finding of a series of unusual cracks in the makeup of the world's sky: gateways that appear to lead to alternate realities. An example of a window manifests to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with its leader at its head, designates these openings as a threat to the religion's doctrine and endeavors to destroy them. As the heroine begins to move from rigid logic and return to instinct, nevertheless, her certainty that these locations must be defended – that what they stand for and their value is somehow crucial – grows. "Dust, or rose oil, or the vision, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean tussle between purity and experience is established.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
