Tings are unraveling in the last installment of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that seems, in this volume especially, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is draining from governments, and accumulating in the chambers of religious leaders, the vaults of business empires, the grasp of rioters. "An element is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and durable are faltering and collapsing."
Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path
Just what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that animates this final volume, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's concluding venture into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling universe he first introduced 30 years ago, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of this world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the people look and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, essences in creature form; where the air are filled with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, transports are taken and beverages is consumed, and middle-aged professors carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a child in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still distinctly the sharp and determined main character of the prior volumes, but older, melancholic, more careful, less sure. This limitation is amplified by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
His choice to leave in pursuit of that innocent part of her which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a picaresque trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with marvel and risk on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the church's ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of austere, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the position of head of the Magisterium's governing body, and is intent on using his newfound influence to broaden the church's rule. Another protagonist, who rescued young Lyra to security along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in espionage: he is dispatched to Geneva to find out more about Delamare's aims. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and valuable essential oil which appears in some way to be the cause of a social and economic crisis rippling out from Central Asia. The oil is viewed by certain groups as a commercial commodity, by others as a research-based or spiritual phenomenon, and by others still – the zealous "highland figures" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be obliterated. The issue of where it comes from, its meaning, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the original trilogy, Lyra's deeds, and her future, are revealed to be inextricably linked with the fate of the world
In its predecessor, these plots ran broadly in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. As in His Dark Materials, the protagonist's actions and her path are shown to be deeply linked with the destiny of the world. Her private mission to reunite with her daemon and recover her imagination becomes the key battleground in a wider conflict with an controlling regime which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to suppress freedom of thought, innovation and culture: all the internal, defiant ways in which people can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the finding of a set of curious cracks in the structure of the planet's sky: windows that appear to open into other worlds. An example of a window seems to be the origin of the highly contested botanical substance. The authority, with its leader at its leadership, designates these portals as a challenge to the religion's doctrine and aims to destroy them. As the heroine begins to move from strict rationalism and back to intuition, nevertheless, her belief that these places must be protected – that their meaning and what they offer is in some way vital – strengthens. "Dust, or the extract, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a philosophical struggle between purity and experience is established.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
