Things are unraveling in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's masterful trilogies set in a realm that seems, in this volume especially, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from governments, and accumulating in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of business empires, the grasp of rioters. "Something is at work, silently, gradually", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were stable and solid are weakening and failing."
Key Puzzle and Her Quest
Exactly what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that drives the concluding book, which continues where the previous book ended. This is, according to many, the author's final excursion into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting realm he first introduced three decades past, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose geography corresponds to that of the real world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the individuals look and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by daemons, beings in animal form; where the heavens are filled with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, vehicles are ridden and beverages is sipped, and middle-aged academics carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still recognisably the prickly and determined heroine of the earlier books, but aged, sadder, warier, less sure. This limitation is intensified by her separation from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to leave in search of that childlike part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with marvel and peril on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the religious controlling power, and the author's deliciously chilling representation of strict, bureaucratic malice – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – the heroine's uncle, who faults her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is determined on using his fresh influence to expand the church's control. Another protagonist, who saved young Lyra to refuge along a swollen Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an university scholar with a sideline in intelligence work: he is sent to a key location to discover more about Delamare's aims. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and precious botanical extract which appears mysteriously to be the origin of a social and financial upheaval rippling out from that area. The substance is seen by certain groups as a tradeable product, by others as a scientific or esoteric wonder, and by further factions – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of evil; an affront that must be obliterated. The issue of its origins, what it stands for, and whether it should be destroyed or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the first series, the heroine's deeds, and her fate, are shown to be inextricably connected with the fate of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran mostly in tandem. In this final book, they come together. As in the first trilogy, the protagonist's choices and her fate are shown to be deeply linked with the destiny of the world. Her personal journey to reunite with her soul and regain her vision becomes the primary battleground in a wider war with an oppressive government which, as these systems often attempt, is seeking to quell autonomy of reason, creativity and culture: all the internal, resistant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The story starts with the discovery of a collection of curious cracks in the fabric of the planet's atmosphere: gateways that look to give on to alternate realities. One such opening manifests to be the origin of the much debated rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its helm, labels these portals as a problem to the church's beliefs and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from strict reason and revert to instinct, yet, her belief that these sites must be protected – that their significance and their value is somehow vital – grows. "The substance, or the substance, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a poetic conflict between purity and maturity is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
