Things are collapsing in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that seems, now more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Organizations are failing, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from states, and accumulating in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of business empires, the grasp of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, gradually", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and solid are faltering and giving way."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that animates the concluding book, which continues where the previous book left off. This is, according to many, the author's concluding excursion into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating world he first introduced 30 years ago, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose geography maps on to that of the real world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the individuals look and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, beings in animal form; where the heavens are filled with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, transports are ridden and tea is drunk, and older academics carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which the author began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still recognisably the spiky and tenacious heroine of the prior volumes, but more mature, sadder, more cautious, less sure. This restraint is intensified by her separation from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that childlike part of her which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a picaresque journey across the continent and into the mountain region, facing with wonder and danger on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the church's controlling power, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of strict, administrative malice – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of president of the Magisterium's governing body, and is intent on using his newfound influence to expand the religion's control. A key character, who rescued infant the heroine to refuge along a overflowing river as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a additional duty in spycraft: he is sent to a key location to learn more about Delamare's aims. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and costly essential oil which appears in some way to be the source of a societal and financial upheaval spreading out from Central Asia. The substance is seen by certain groups as a commercial commodity, by different parties as a research-based or esoteric phenomenon, and by yet others – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of darkness; an affront that must be destroyed. The issue of its source, what it stands for, and if it should be eliminated or preserved is becoming urgent.
As in the first series, our protagonist's decisions, and her future, are demonstrated to be deeply linked with the fate of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran broadly in parallel. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's movements and her path are unveiled to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the world. Her individual quest to reconnect with her soul and rediscover her imagination becomes the primary battleground in a larger war with an authoritarian system which, as these systems typically do, is striving to suppress autonomy of reason, innovation and culture: all the inner, defiant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the unveiling of a series of curious cracks in the fabric of the planet's atmosphere: portals that look to lead to alternate realities. A particular window seems to be the source of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with Delamare at its leadership, labels these windows as a threat to the church's orthodoxy and aims to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to shift from rigid rationalism and back to feeling, yet, her certainty that these sites must be protected – that their significance and what they provide is somehow crucial – increases. "Dust, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a poetic conflict between innocence and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the