Tings are collapsing in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that appears, in this volume especially, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is draining from governments, and pooling in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the control of rioters. "An element is at work, stealthily, gradually", says trader a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and solid are weakening and failing."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Exactly what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that propels this final volume, which picks up where its predecessor ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's concluding excursion into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating realm he first unveiled three decades past, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose landscape maps on to that of our world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans appear and reason and behave like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, souls in animal form; where the skies are teeming with witches and legendary creatures, but below, buses are taken and beverages is consumed, and mature scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a child in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in the first volume, the introductory book with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still distinctly the sharp and determined heroine of the prior volumes, but more mature, more sorrowful, warier, less certain. This restraint is amplified by her division from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to depart in quest of that innocent part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he represents as her "imagination"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with marvel and risk on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister incarnation of rigid, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. The antagonist – the heroine's relative, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the office of president of the church's High Council, and is determined on using his fresh influence to expand the religion's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who carried young Lyra to safety along a flooded Thames as an child in the first book, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in espionage: he is sent to Geneva to learn more about Delamare's intentions. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and costly essential oil which manifests in some way to be the origin of a societal and economic crisis emanating out from Central Asia. The extract is viewed by certain groups as a commercial good, by others as a empirical or esoteric phenomenon, and by further factions – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a origin of evil; an affront that must be destroyed. The question of where it comes from, its significance, and whether it should be eliminated or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's decisions, and her fate, are shown to be deeply entwined with the fate of the universe
In the previous volume, these plots ran broadly in tandem. In this final book, they merge. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's actions and her path are unveiled to be deeply entwined with the fate of the realm. Her private journey to rejoin with her companion and recover her vision becomes the primary conflict in a larger conflict with an controlling regime which, as such authorities often attempt, is striving to quell independence of thought, creativity and expression: all the internal, rebellious ways in which people can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The book begins with the finding of a series of unusual openings in the structure of the Earth's sky: windows that seem to lead to other worlds. An example of a portal seems to be the point of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The church, with Delamare at its leadership, classifies these openings as a problem to the institution's beliefs and aims to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to shift from inflexible reason and return to instinct, however, her certainty that these places must be protected – that their significance and their value is somehow vital – increases. "The substance, or the extract, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a Blakean conflict between naivety and knowledge is prepared.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
