Things are collapsing in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, in this volume especially, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from states, and gathering in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the control of crowds. "Something is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and strong are faltering and failing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that propels the concluding book, which resumes where the previous book left off. This is, by all accounts, the author's concluding foray into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating universe he first introduced in the distant past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose geography corresponds to that of the real world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and think and act like us, but are joined by external spirits, essences in animal form; where the heavens are teeming with witches and legendary creatures, but below, transports are caught and tea is consumed, and mature academics carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the first volume, the introductory book with which the author began the series, is now a young woman: still recognisably the prickly and persistent protagonist of the previous installments, but older, melancholic, more cautious, less certain. This circumscription is heightened by her division from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
The daemon's resolve to leave in search of that innocent part of her which she seems to have lost (an quality which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with marvel and peril on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the religious controlling power, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of strict, administrative wickedness – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's uncle, who blames her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the position of leader of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his fresh influence to extend the church's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who carried baby Lyra to security along a flooded Thames as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in espionage: he is dispatched to Geneva to discover more about his plans. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and costly botanical extract which appears mysteriously to be the origin of a societal and financial crisis spreading out from Central Asia. The substance is seen by certain groups as a commercial product, by alternate groups as a research-based or mystical phenomenon, and by yet others – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a origin of malevolence; an insult that must be eradicated. The dilemma of where it comes from, what it stands for, and if it should be removed or protected is becoming urgent.
Similar to the first series, Lyra's deeds, and her destiny, are shown to be inseparably connected with the destiny of the world
In the previous volume, these narratives ran largely in tandem. In the conclusion, they merge. Similar to the original series, her actions and her fate are shown to be inextricably woven with the destiny of the world. Her private journey to reconnect with her companion and rediscover her creativity becomes the central conflict in a larger war with an authoritarian government which, as such regimes always have, is striving to stifle autonomy of reason, creativity and culture: all the personal, rebellious ways in which people can be free.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The story starts with the finding of a collection of strange fissures in the makeup of the Earth's air: gateways that appear to give on to alternate realities. An example of a opening seems to be the point of the much debated rose oil. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its leadership, classifies these windows as a problem to the institution's beliefs and sets out to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from rigid rationalism and revert to intuition, yet, her conviction that these places must be protected – that their significance and what they offer is mysteriously vital – strengthens. "The substance, or the extract, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a philosophical struggle between purity and maturity is set.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
