Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that appears, now more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reassembling themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is draining from states, and pooling in the offices of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the grasp of crowds. "Some force is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were secure and durable are faltering and failing."
Precisely what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that drives this final volume, which continues where the previous book ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's final venture into the elaborately built, deeply captivating universe he first unveiled three decades past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose terrain corresponds to that of this world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and behave like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, souls in creature form; where the heavens are populated with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, vehicles are caught and drinks is sipped, and mature academics carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the first volume, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a adult: still recognisably the prickly and tenacious heroine of the previous installments, but aged, more sorrowful, more careful, less certain. This limitation is intensified by her division from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
The daemon's resolve to leave in pursuit of that childlike part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an trait which he represents as her "vision"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and risk on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the religious governing authority, and the author's masterfully eerie incarnation of strict, procedural wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's family member, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the role of leader of the church's governing body, and is intent on using his recently acquired authority to extend the institution's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued baby Lyra to security along a flooded Thames as an young boy in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about the antagonist's aims. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and valuable essential oil which appears mysteriously to be the cause of a social and financial upheaval emanating out from that area. The substance is viewed by some as a marketable commodity, by different parties as a scientific or spiritual wonder, and by others still – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be obliterated. The issue of where it comes from, its significance, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the first series, the heroine's decisions, and her future, are shown to be deeply linked with the destiny of the universe
In the previous volume, these storylines ran mostly in tandem. In the conclusion, they come together. Similar to the original series, Lyra's actions and her path are revealed to be deeply woven with the future of the universe. Her private quest to reconnect with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the central struggle in a broader conflict with an authoritarian system which, as these systems often attempt, is seeking to stifle independence of reason, innovation and culture: all the personal, rebellious ways in which people can be free.
The book starts with the finding of a series of strange openings in the fabric of the Earth's sky: gateways that seem to lead to alternate realities. A particular opening appears to be the point of the much debated botanical substance. The authority, with Delamare at its leadership, labels these openings as a challenge to the church's doctrine and sets out to eliminate them. As the heroine begins to turn away from rigid rationalism and revert to intuition, yet, her certainty that these sites must be protected – that their significance and what they offer is mysteriously essential – strengthens. "Dust, or the extract, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a philosophical conflict between purity and knowledge is prepared.
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
Oliver Sterling is a seasoned sports betting analyst with over a decade of experience in the UK gambling industry.