Things are falling apart in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's grand trilogies set in a realm that appears, in this volume especially, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along new and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from governments, and pooling in the chambers of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the grasp of rioters. "An element is at work, very quietly, gradually", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and strong are deteriorating and collapsing."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that animates this final volume, which continues where its predecessor left off. This is, by all accounts, the author's concluding foray into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating universe he first revealed three decades past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose landscape maps on to that of this world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, souls in beast form; where the heavens are populated with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but below, vehicles are taken and tea is drunk, and mature academics carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which Pullman began the series, is now a young woman: still clearly the sharp and determined protagonist of the previous installments, but more mature, sadder, warier, more doubtful. This circumscription is amplified by her split from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
The daemon's resolve to go off in pursuit of that innocent part of her which she appears to have shed (an quality which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous journey across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with wonder and risk on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of strict, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's uncle, who blames her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the position of leader of the authority's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his newfound authority to extend the religion's rule. A key character, who carried baby Lyra to refuge along a overflowing Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in espionage: he is sent to a key location to find out more about the antagonist's aims. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and costly rose oil which seems somehow to be the source of a societal and economic disturbance emanating out from Central Asia. The substance is regarded by various factions as a tradeable product, by others as a research-based or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a origin of darkness; an insult that must be destroyed. The question of where it comes from, what it stands for, and if it should be removed or preserved is becoming urgent.
Like the original trilogy, the heroine's decisions, and her fate, are shown to be deeply connected with the future of the universe
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in side by side. In this final book, they merge. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's choices and her fate are unveiled to be deeply woven with the destiny of the world. Her individual quest to rejoin with her daemon and recover her imagination becomes the key battleground in a larger conflict with an oppressive government which, as such regimes typically do, is striving to suppress freedom of thought, originality and art: all the inner, resistant ways in which people can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The novel begins with the discovery of a series of curious openings in the structure of the Earth's sky: gateways that seem to give on to other worlds. One such window seems to be the origin of the highly contested mystical extract. The authority, with Delamare at its helm, labels these openings as a challenge to the religion's doctrine and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from rigid logic and revert to intuition, however, her conviction that these sites must be protected – that their meaning and their value is somehow crucial – strengthens. "The substance, or rose oil, or the vision, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a poetic tussle between naivety and experience is prepared.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
