Things are unraveling in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that seems, here more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reassembling themselves along new and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from governments, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of business empires, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, very quietly, gradually", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his place in an city cafe. "Things we thought were stable and strong are weakening and giving way."
The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that drives this final volume, which picks up where the previous book ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's last venture into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling universe he first revealed three decades past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose geography corresponds to that of our world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and think and act like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, souls in animal form; where the air are populated with witches and gryphons, but underneath, vehicles are ridden and beverages is consumed, and middle-aged scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still recognisably the spiky and tenacious main character of the prior volumes, but more mature, melancholic, more careful, less certain. This restraint is amplified by her separation from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to go off in search of that innocent part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an trait which he represents as her "vision"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and peril on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the faith's governing authority, and the author's deliciously chilling embodiment of rigid, bureaucratic wickedness – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the office of leader of the authority's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his newfound influence to broaden the religion's control. Malcolm Polstead, who saved infant Lyra to refuge along a overflowing river as an young boy in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in espionage: he is sent to the city to learn more about Delamare's aims. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and costly rose oil which appears somehow to be the origin of a societal and economic upheaval spreading out from that area. The extract is regarded by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by others as a research-based or esoteric miracle, and by yet others – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an challenge that must be destroyed. The issue of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be destroyed or protected is becoming urgent.
Similar to the first series, our protagonist's decisions, and her fate, are revealed to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the world
In its predecessor, these narratives ran largely in tandem. In the conclusion, they come together. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's actions and her fate are revealed to be inseparably woven with the future of the realm. Her personal mission to reconnect with her companion and rediscover her imagination becomes the key conflict in a wider battle with an oppressive system which, as these systems often attempt, is attempting to quell freedom of thought, creativity and art: all the internal, resistant ways in which people can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The book starts with the finding of a collection of strange fissures in the fabric of the Earth's air: gateways that appear to open into other worlds. An example of a opening appears to be the point of the highly contested rose oil. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its leadership, designates these portals as a threat to the religion's doctrine and endeavors to destroy them. As Lyra begins to move from rigid logic and back to feeling, yet, her certainty that these locations must be protected – that what they stand for and their value is mysteriously vital – increases. "The substance, or the extract, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or whatever we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a philosophical conflict between naivety and maturity is set.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
