Things are unraveling in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's grand trilogies set in a world that seems, now more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from states, and gathering in the offices of religious leaders, the treasuries of corporations, the grasp of crowds. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and solid are weakening and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that propels this final volume, which resumes where the previous book left off. This is, according to many, the author's final venture into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating universe he first introduced 30 years ago, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose terrain maps on to that of this world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and behave like us, but are joined by animal souls, souls in creature form; where the skies are populated with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but below, buses are taken and beverages is consumed, and middle-aged professors carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a child in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a young woman: still distinctly the sharp and determined protagonist of the previous installments, but aged, sadder, more careful, more doubtful. This circumscription is intensified by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to leave in pursuit of that innocent part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an trait which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a picaresque journey across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and peril on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of austere, bureaucratic malice – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's uncle, who faults her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the office of leader of the church's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his recently acquired authority to expand the religion's dominium. Another protagonist, who rescued baby the heroine to safety along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in espionage: he is dispatched to a key location to discover more about Delamare's plans. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and precious botanical extract which appears mysteriously to be the origin of a social and economic upheaval rippling out from Central Asia. The extract is seen by various factions as a commercial good, by alternate groups as a scientific or esoteric phenomenon, and by yet others – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a source of malevolence; an challenge that must be obliterated. The question of its source, what it stands for, and whether it should be removed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the original trilogy, our protagonist's decisions, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be deeply connected with the fate of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran mostly in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's choices and her fate are unveiled to be inseparably linked with the fate of the realm. Her individual journey to reunite with her companion and regain her imagination becomes the key struggle in a broader conflict with an oppressive regime which, as these systems always have, is attempting to stifle freedom of thought, originality and expression: all the internal, defiant ways in which people can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The book begins with the discovery of a series of curious cracks in the makeup of the planet's sky: gateways that seem to lead to different dimensions. One such opening manifests to be the point of the highly contested botanical substance. The church, with the antagonist at its leadership, designates these windows as a threat to the church's orthodoxy and aims to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from inflexible rationalism and return to instinct, yet, her belief that these sites must be defended – that their significance and what they provide is somehow vital – grows. "Dust, or the substance, or the vision, or the field of roses, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a poetic conflict between innocence and experience is prepared.
Story Tempo and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
