Tings are unraveling in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that manifests, now more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along novel and troubling lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from states, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the grasp of mobs. "Something is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and solid are deteriorating and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that drives the concluding book, which resumes where the previous book concluded. This is, according to many, the author's concluding excursion into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting world he first introduced 30 years ago, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose terrain corresponds to that of this world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and think and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, essences in beast form; where the heavens are populated with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, buses are ridden and tea is consumed, and mature scholars carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the first volume, the introductory book with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still distinctly the sharp and determined heroine of the earlier books, but older, melancholic, more careful, less certain. This circumscription is heightened by her split from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to go off in quest of that childlike part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which chronicled Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with amazement and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in action, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the faith's controlling power, and the author's brilliantly sinister incarnation of rigid, bureaucratic evil – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's family member, who blames her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the role of head of the Magisterium's governing body, and is set on using his recently acquired authority to expand the religion's rule. Another protagonist, who carried infant the heroine to safety along a swollen Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an academic with a sideline in spycraft: he is dispatched to the city to learn more about his intentions. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and precious essential oil which manifests somehow to be the origin of a social and economic crisis spreading out from the region. The substance is regarded by some as a marketable product, by others as a scientific or spiritual wonder, and by further factions – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a wellspring of evil; an affront that must be destroyed. The dilemma of where it comes from, its meaning, and if it should be eliminated or protected is escalating in importance.
Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's actions, and her fate, are revealed to be deeply connected with the destiny of the realm
In its predecessor, these narratives ran broadly in tandem. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the original series, the protagonist's movements and her destiny are revealed to be deeply linked with the future of the universe. Her private quest to reunite with her daemon and recover her vision becomes the key battleground in a broader battle with an oppressive regime which, as these systems often attempt, is attempting to suppress independence of thinking, innovation and art: all the internal, resistant ways in which humans can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The story starts with the discovery of a collection of curious fissures in the structure of the Earth's air: windows that appear to give on to different dimensions. An example of a window seems to be the point of the much debated botanical substance. The Magisterium, with its leader at its head, labels these openings as a challenge to the church's beliefs and aims to eliminate them. As the heroine begins to turn away from strict logic and return to instinct, yet, her certainty that these places must be preserved – that their meaning and what they provide is somehow vital – strengthens. "Dust, or the extract, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a poetic conflict between naivety and maturity is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
