Things are unraveling in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's masterful trilogies set in a realm that seems, in this volume especially, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from authorities, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the treasuries of corporations, the grasp of rioters. "An element is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and strong are deteriorating and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that drives this final volume, which continues where its predecessor left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final excursion into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating universe he first revealed 30 years ago, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a world whose geography maps on to that of the real world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and reason and behave like us, but are paired by daemons, beings in animal form; where the heavens are populated with witches and legendary creatures, but underneath, transports are taken and tea is drunk, and middle-aged scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still recognisably the sharp and determined heroine of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, more cautious, less sure. This circumscription is heightened by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
The daemon's resolve to go off in pursuit of that childlike part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a wandering voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with marvel and danger on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in action, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the religious governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of rigid, bureaucratic evil – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. The antagonist – our protagonist's family member, who blames her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the position of president of the Magisterium's High Council, and is set on using his newfound influence to broaden the church's dominium. Another protagonist, who rescued baby Lyra to safety along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in spycraft: he is dispatched to the city to find out more about his plans. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and precious rose oil which manifests in some way to be the source of a social and financial upheaval rippling out from the region. The extract is seen by certain groups as a marketable commodity, by others as a scientific or mystical miracle, and by yet others – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an challenge that must be obliterated. The issue of where it comes from, its significance, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is becoming urgent.
As in the original trilogy, our protagonist's decisions, and her destiny, are shown to be inextricably linked with the fate of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran broadly in side by side. In the conclusion, they converge. Like the original series, Lyra's actions and her destiny are revealed to be deeply woven with the fate of the realm. Her private quest to reunite with her daemon and regain her creativity becomes the key battleground in a broader battle with an oppressive system which, as such regimes typically do, is attempting to suppress freedom of thinking, innovation and expression: all the inner, defiant ways in which humans can be free.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The book starts with the finding of a series of unusual fissures in the makeup of the Earth's sky: portals that seem to lead to other worlds. An example of a portal seems to be the source of the much debated rose oil. The authority, with Delamare at its leadership, classifies these openings as a threat to the religion's beliefs and aims to destroy them. As Lyra begins to shift from strict rationalism and return to feeling, however, her conviction that these sites must be protected – that what they stand for and what they provide is in some way essential – increases. "The substance, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a poetic struggle between innocence and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
