Tings are falling apart in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's grand trilogies set in a world that seems, in this volume especially, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from governments, and accumulating in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of conglomerates, the hands of crowds. "Some force is at work, stealthily, gradually", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and durable are faltering and collapsing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which picks up where the previous book left off. This is, according to many, the author's last venture into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting universe he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose terrain maps on to that of this world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the humans appear and reason and behave like us, but are paired by animal souls, essences in animal form; where the skies are filled with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, buses are caught and drinks is drunk, and mature academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which the author began the series, is now a young woman: still clearly the prickly and tenacious heroine of the previous installments, but more mature, sadder, more cautious, less sure. This restraint is amplified by her split from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to go off in pursuit of that innocent part of her which she may have forgotten (an trait which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which chronicled Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with wonder and peril on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in action, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the religious governing authority, and the author's deliciously chilling embodiment of austere, administrative evil – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's uncle, who faults her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the position of president of the authority's ruling assembly, and is set on using his fresh authority to broaden the religion's control. Another protagonist, who carried young Lyra to security along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in spycraft: he is sent to a key location to find out more about his plans. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and costly rose oil which appears mysteriously to be the cause of a societal and economic crisis spreading out from that area. The substance is seen by various factions as a commercial good, by alternate groups as a research-based or spiritual wonder, and by further factions – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its source, its meaning, and if it should be eliminated or preserved is becoming urgent.
Similar to the first series, our protagonist's decisions, and her fate, are revealed to be inseparably connected with the fate of the universe
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in parallel. In this final book, they come together. Similar to His Dark Materials, the protagonist's choices and her fate are revealed to be deeply linked with the fate of the universe. Her individual journey to reunite with her daemon and rediscover her imagination becomes the primary battleground in a larger war with an oppressive regime which, as these systems often attempt, is attempting to stifle independence of thinking, innovation and expression: all the personal, resistant ways in which humans can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The book begins with the unveiling of a collection of curious cracks in the fabric of the planet's sky: windows that appear to open into alternate realities. One such portal seems to be the origin of the highly contested botanical substance. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its head, labels these openings as a threat to the institution's doctrine and sets out to destroy them. As the heroine begins to turn away from strict rationalism and back to instinct, however, her conviction that these sites must be protected – that their significance and what they provide is in some way essential – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a Blakean conflict between naivety and experience is set.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
