Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's masterful trilogies set in a realm that seems, now more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from governments, and accumulating in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the control of mobs. "Some force is at work, silently, very subtly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and strong are deteriorating and collapsing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Just what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that propels the concluding book, which continues where its predecessor left off. This is, according to many, the author's concluding venture into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting universe he first revealed in the distant past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of our world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals look and reason and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, souls in creature form; where the heavens are teeming with witches and mythical beasts, but underneath, buses are taken and drinks is consumed, and mature scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still recognisably the spiky and persistent protagonist of the earlier books, but aged, sadder, more cautious, more doubtful. This restraint is heightened by her separation from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to go off in quest of that innocent part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled Lyra undertake a picaresque trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with amazement and danger on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the religious governing authority, and the author's deliciously chilling incarnation of strict, procedural malice – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's relative, who faults her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of president of the church's High Council, and is set on using his newfound authority to expand the institution's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who carried infant Lyra to security along a flooded river as an young boy in La Belle Sauvage, is now an university scholar with a sideline in intelligence work: he is sent to Geneva to find out more about the antagonist's plans. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and valuable botanical extract which seems in some way to be the cause of a societal and financial disturbance emanating out from that area. The extract is seen by certain groups as a commercial good, by alternate groups as a scientific or spiritual miracle, and by further factions – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be destroyed. The issue of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be destroyed or protected is becoming urgent.
As in the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are revealed to be deeply entwined with the future of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran largely in tandem. In the conclusion, they merge. Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's movements and her fate are shown to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the realm. Her private mission to rejoin with her soul and recover her creativity becomes the primary battleground in a wider battle with an oppressive regime which, as these systems often attempt, is seeking to stifle autonomy of thinking, originality and art: all the inner, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The novel begins with the finding of a series of unusual fissures in the makeup of the planet's atmosphere: gateways that appear to lead to other worlds. One such portal manifests to be the source of the highly contested mystical extract. The church, with Delamare at its head, classifies these portals as a problem to the religion's beliefs and aims to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to move from inflexible logic and return to instinct, however, her conviction that these locations must be defended – that their significance and what they provide is in some way vital – increases. "The substance, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a Blakean tussle between purity and experience is prepared.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
