Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a universe that appears, in this volume especially, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or restructuring themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from states, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the vaults of corporations, the control of mobs. "Something is at work, silently, very subtly", says trader a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and strong are weakening and failing."
Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last excursion into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling world he first revealed 30 years ago, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of this world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the individuals appear and think and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, beings in creature form; where the skies are populated with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, transports are ridden and drinks is drunk, and middle-aged academics carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a child in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a mature individual: still clearly the sharp and tenacious protagonist of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, warier, more doubtful. This limitation is intensified by her separation from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
The daemon's resolve to leave in search of that childlike part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an quality which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which followed Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with amazement and danger on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in action, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of austere, bureaucratic malice – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. The antagonist – our protagonist's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the position of head of the church's governing body, and is intent on using his recently acquired power to broaden the institution's rule. Another protagonist, who carried baby Lyra to safety along a swollen river as an child in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a secondary role in espionage: he is dispatched to a key location to find out more about his intentions. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and valuable rose oil which manifests mysteriously to be the origin of a societal and financial crisis rippling out from the region. The oil is seen by various factions as a commercial good, by different parties as a research-based or esoteric wonder, and by yet others – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of darkness; an challenge that must be destroyed. The issue of where it comes from, what it stands for, and whether it should be eliminated or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the original trilogy, Lyra's decisions, and her future, are revealed to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran largely in parallel. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the first trilogy, the protagonist's actions and her path are shown to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the realm. Her personal quest to rejoin with her daemon and regain her vision becomes the key conflict in a larger battle with an controlling regime which, as such authorities often attempt, is striving to quell independence of reason, originality and expression: all the inner, rebellious ways in which humans can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The book begins with the unveiling of a collection of strange cracks in the structure of the world's air: portals that seem to open into alternate realities. A particular opening manifests to be the source of the much debated mystical extract. The church, with the antagonist at its head, classifies these openings as a threat to the religion's orthodoxy and aims to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to shift from inflexible rationalism and return to feeling, nevertheless, her belief that these locations must be defended – that their significance and what they offer is mysteriously vital – grows. "The substance, or the substance, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a poetic tussle between purity and maturity is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
