Things are unraveling in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a universe that seems, now more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along novel and troubling lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from governments, and pooling in the chambers of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the grasp of mobs. "An element is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and durable are weakening and failing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that drives this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor ended. This is, according to many, the author's last foray into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting realm he first introduced 30 years ago, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose geography corresponds to that of this world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the people look and think and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, souls in animal form; where the heavens are filled with witches and gryphons, but beneath those skies, vehicles are taken and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged academics carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a young woman: still recognisably the spiky and determined main character of the previous installments, but older, melancholic, more careful, less sure. This restraint is intensified by her separation from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in quest of that childlike part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an trait which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with amazement and peril on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of strict, bureaucratic evil – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's family member, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the role of head of the authority's High Council, and is set on using his newfound authority to extend the church's rule. Another protagonist, who carried young the heroine to safety along a flooded Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in espionage: he is sent to the city to learn more about Delamare's intentions. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and precious botanical extract which appears in some way to be the source of a social and economic crisis rippling out from Central Asia. The substance is viewed by some as a tradeable commodity, by different parties as a research-based or spiritual phenomenon, and by yet others – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a source of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The issue of its source, what it stands for, and if it should be destroyed or protected is becoming urgent.
Like the first series, Lyra's actions, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inextricably connected with the future of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran largely in parallel. In the conclusion, they converge. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's actions and her fate are unveiled to be inextricably woven with the future of the realm. Her private quest to reconnect with her companion and recover her imagination becomes the primary battleground in a broader battle with an oppressive system which, as these systems often attempt, is seeking to stifle freedom of reason, originality and culture: all the inner, defiant ways in which humans can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The novel begins with the unveiling of a collection of unusual openings in the structure of the Earth's sky: windows that look to give on to alternate realities. An example of a window seems to be the point of the much debated rose oil. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its helm, labels these windows as a challenge to the institution's beliefs and aims to destroy them. As the heroine begins to shift from rigid logic and back to instinct, nevertheless, her belief that these places must be defended – that their significance and what they provide is in some way crucial – increases. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or whatever we name it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a Blakean conflict between purity and knowledge is prepared.
Story Tempo and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
