Things are unraveling in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that appears, now more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or restructuring themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from governments, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the vaults of corporations, the control of crowds. "An element is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his post in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and durable are weakening and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that drives this final volume, which continues where the previous book ended. This is, according to many, the author's last foray into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling universe he first revealed three decades past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose landscape maps on to that of the real world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the individuals appear and think and behave like us, but are joined by animal souls, essences in beast form; where the skies are filled with witches and mythical beasts, but below, transports are ridden and drinks is sipped, and middle-aged scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still clearly the prickly and tenacious heroine of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, warier, more doubtful. This restraint is heightened by her separation from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to depart in quest of that youthful part of her which she appears to have shed (an quality which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which followed Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and danger on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie embodiment of austere, procedural malice – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's relative, who faults her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of head of the authority's High Council, and is determined on using his fresh influence to extend the church's rule. A key character, who saved young Lyra to refuge along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in intelligence work: he is sent to the city to learn more about Delamare's intentions. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and costly essential oil which seems mysteriously to be the source of a societal and economic upheaval spreading out from Central Asia. The substance is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable product, by different parties as a research-based or esoteric wonder, and by others still – the extremist "highland figures" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an affront that must be obliterated. The issue of its source, its meaning, and whether it should be removed or protected is escalating in importance.
Similar to the original trilogy, the heroine's actions, and her future, are shown to be deeply connected with the fate of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran broadly in tandem. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the original series, her movements and her fate are unveiled to be inextricably woven with the destiny of the world. Her personal quest to reconnect with her companion and regain her vision becomes the key battleground in a larger battle with an oppressive government which, as such regimes often attempt, is seeking to suppress independence of thinking, creativity and culture: all the inner, defiant ways in which people can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The book starts with the finding of a collection of unusual fissures in the makeup of the planet's sky: windows that look to open into different dimensions. An example of a opening appears to be the origin of the much debated botanical substance. The authority, with Delamare at its leadership, classifies these openings as a threat to the church's doctrine and endeavors to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from rigid logic and back to feeling, however, her belief that these places must be preserved – that their meaning and what they offer is in some way crucial – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a Blakean conflict between innocence and knowledge is set.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
