Tings are unraveling in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that seems, here more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or restructuring themselves along new and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is draining from authorities, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the grasp of rioters. "Something is at work, very quietly, gradually", says trader a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and durable are faltering and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that propels this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor left off. This is, reportedly, the author's concluding foray into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating world he first unveiled in the distant past, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose terrain corresponds to that of the real world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, essences in animal form; where the skies are filled with witches and gryphons, but underneath, buses are ridden and drinks is drunk, and mature professors carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still distinctly the spiky and tenacious heroine of the earlier books, but aged, melancholic, warier, less certain. This restraint is intensified by her split from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to depart in quest of that innocent part of her which she appears to have shed (an trait which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which followed Lyra undertake a picaresque journey across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and danger on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in action, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the religious ruling body, and the author's brilliantly sinister incarnation of austere, bureaucratic malice – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's uncle, who blames her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the office of head of the Magisterium's governing body, and is determined on using his fresh authority to extend the religion's control. Another protagonist, who carried infant the heroine to security along a overflowing river as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in espionage: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about the antagonist's plans. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and costly botanical extract which seems mysteriously to be the source of a social and economic disturbance emanating out from that area. The extract is seen by some as a marketable product, by different parties as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a origin of evil; an insult that must be eradicated. The issue of where it comes from, its meaning, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is becoming urgent.
As in the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her future, are shown to be inseparably connected with the fate of the realm
In its predecessor, these narratives ran broadly in side by side. In this final book, they merge. As in the first trilogy, her choices and her destiny are revealed to be inextricably linked with the fate of the universe. Her personal journey to reconnect with her companion and regain her creativity becomes the key struggle in a broader conflict with an authoritarian system which, as such regimes often attempt, is striving to stifle autonomy of thinking, creativity and culture: all the internal, resistant ways in which people can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The story begins with the unveiling of a set of strange fissures in the makeup of the planet's air: windows that seem to lead to different dimensions. One such portal appears to be the origin of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its leadership, designates these portals as a challenge to the church's orthodoxy and sets out to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to move from rigid reason and revert to instinct, yet, her belief that these locations must be protected – that what they stand for and what they offer is mysteriously crucial – strengthens. "The substance, or the substance, or the vision, or the field of roses, or whatever we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a poetic struggle between naivety and knowledge is prepared.
Story Tempo and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
