As war rages and Dust drains from the sky, the fate of the living—and the dead—finally comes to depend on two children and the simple truth of one simple story.
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A complex web of thoughts was weaving itself in the bear king's mind, with more strands in it than hunger and satisfaction. There was the memory of the little girl Lyra, whom he had named Silvertongue, and whom he had last seen crossing the fragile snow bridge across a crevasse in his own island of Svalbard. Then there was the agitation among the witches, the rumors of pacts and alliances and war; and then there was the surpassingly strange fact of this new world itself, and the witch's insistence that there were many more such worlds, and that the fate of them all hung somehow on the fate of the child.Meanwhile, two factions of the Church are vying to reach Lyra first. One is even prepared to give a priest "preemptive absolution" should he succeed in committing mortal sin. For these tyrants, killing this girl is no less than "a sacred task."
In the final installment of his trilogy, Philip Pullman has set himself the highest hurdles. He must match its predecessors in terms of sheer action and originality and resolve the enigmas he already created. The good news is that there is no critical bad news--not that The Amber Spyglass doesn't contain standoffs and close calls galore. (Who would have it otherwise?) But Pullman brings his audacious revision of Paradise Lost to a conclusion that is both serene and devastating. In prose that is transparent yet lyrical and 3-D, the author weaves in and out of his principals' thoughts. He also offers up several additional worlds. In one, Dr. Mary Malone is welcomed into an apparently simple society. The environment of the mulefa (again, we'll reveal nothing more) makes them rich in consciousness while their lives possess a slow and stately rhythm. These strange creatures can, however, be very fast on their feet (or on other things entirely) when necessary. Alas, they are on the verge of dying as Dust streams out of their idyllic landscape. Will the Oxford dark-matter researcher see her way to saving them, or does this require our young heroes? And while Mary is puzzling out a cure, Will and Lyra undertake a pilgrimage to a realm devoid of all light and hope, after having been forced into the cruelest of sacrifices--or betrayals.
Throughout his galvanizing epic, Pullman sustains scenes of fierce beauty and tenderness. He also allows us a moment or two of comic respite. At one point, for instance, Lyra's mother bullies a series of ecclesiastical underlings: "The man bowed helplessly and led her away. The guard behind her blew out his cheeks with relief." Needless to say, Mrs. Coulter is as intoxicating and fluid as ever. And can it be that we will come to admire her as she plays out her desperate endgame? In this respect, as in many others, The Amber Spyglass is truly a book of revelations, moving from darkness visible to radiant truth. --Kerry Fried --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.
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This was nowhere near as good.
The various plot threads are all wrapped up, more or less. But the ending is forced. Other reviewers have pointed out the flat and inconsistent characterizations, the scattered plot, the valueless sub-threads (like Father Gomez). The useless spyglass. And even those who loved the book found the ending of the romance disappointing.
Ultimately, the book fails to deliver on the themes that were begun in "The Golden Compass," including one of the most important. Am I simply not getting it? How was Lyra's position anything comparable to Eve's? She finds love (with almost no character build up), she gives it up for the sake of the world(s). As other readers have noted, she's arguably a Christ character. But not much like Eve. Unless you count the temptation to sex (in a world with giant apple trees that contain the essence of sentience), and frankly, I don't think that was especially plausable. Eve, according to Judeo-Christian theology, succumbs to temptation (for knowledge, not sex) and gets everyone kicked out of Eden. I suppose Lyra resists temptation (to continue a relationship) to help everyone build a new Eden. But it's a tenuous connection at best, because the "only one window, not two" argument is so weak and last-minute, and she and Will can only affect one world each at best, with no way to travel between them. (And if Pullman wanted to redefine Eve to mean something else, a lot more work was needed.)
Aother of the great disappointments was the hesitant flirting with Wisdom. Evidently Pullman has come across feminist spirituality interpretations of gnostic gospels and eastern church references to a female Wisdom character (Sophia) who predates Yaweh (in some traditions). I kept waiting for him to develop this theme. Instead she (Xaphania, the only female angel) merely appears as a "Deus ex machina" and answers the kids' questions before sending them on home. I suppose Pullman realized he was getting too close to replacing a God with a Goddess, and backed down rather than give up his anti-theistic theme. I suppose that's forgivable, if all he wanted to do was write entertaining fiction. But if he wanted to actually make a point about theism, it's an act of cowardice.
Unlike most other reviewers who panned this book, I don't mind the anti-organized-religion slant. As a Quaker, I'm not much on organized religion myself. I didn't think the book is as inherently anti-Christian as some of the reviewers seemed to think, either. To my mind, Lucretia Mott had it right when she encouraged us to "doubt more, in order that we might believe more." Looking at other possible theologies can help us get at the root of what we really believe. But I think Pullman ran out of steam --or maybe even courage-- before he finished developing his ideas. This book needed at least one more major rewrite before publishing, to shake out the loose pieces and add the richness to the characters and themes that was so evident in his earlier books. Maybe Pullman was just too tired to do the necessary work. Or maybe the publisher was impatient. Or maybe Pullman himself started to lose faith in his anti-theism, and didn't have the courage to write details that would force him to acknowledge his dependency on divine powers in the story (Xaphenia, the angels, and most of all, Dust).
I gave it three stars, because it's worth reading, if you liked the first two, just to tie up the loose threads. But it's not on par with them.
It's interesting to think about this trilogy in comparison with C S Lewis's "Narnia" chronicles. Like Lewis, Pullman writes out of total immersion in the Western literary tradition. His obvious influences are Blake, Milton and the Book of Genesis: but there are also traces of Homer (e.g. the fight between Iorek and Iofur in the first book of the trilogy reads like a clash of two Homeric heroes). At a less exalted level, I suspect that Kingsley Amis's "The Alteration" contributed something to Pullman's picture of an alternative Oxford. But in Tolkien's words a book like this is written "out of the leaf-mould of the mind", and if one can discern the shape of one or two of the leaves that doesn't in any sense devalue the originality of the work.
Both the Narnia Chronicles and Pullman's trilogy are imaginative responses to the Christian tradition. The difference between Pullman and Lewis is that Lewis's reading of the Bible is that of orthodox Christianity, whereas Pullman's reading derives from Blake and from Gnosticism. In Pullman's version of events, the God of the Old Testament is not the creator of the Universe, but is a lesser figure (like a very powerful angel), and also a tyrant; the serpent in Eden is an embodiment of wisdom, not a malevolent force; and Eve is a heroine, whose choice of experience over innocence is the very thing that makes us human. The Church is seen in unremittingly bleak terms: Pullman's Church is a synthesis of the worst bits of medieval and Counter-Reformation Catholicism with the worst bits of Calvinism.
Is the book anti-Christian? It's certainly anti-Church, and in a sense also anti-God. But the most curious omission in the book is that Pullman (unlike Blake and unlike the Gnostics) appears at first sight to have nothing at all to say about Jesus (either directly or allegorically). Yet at the same time, although his heroine Lyra is presented as a new Eve, she also has Christ-like characteristics: a child whose destiny is to save the world, threatened by cosmic forces, and capable of sacrificing herself for love (even at the cost of a descent into hell). Pullman would certainly endorse St Paul's view (on this point if on no other) that the greatest love is to lay down one's life for one's friend. In short, the book embodies what are usually regarded as Christian values, but it then uses those very values to attack both the Church and the God who is portrayed in the Old Testament.
Should you read the book? If you are interested in speculative fiction or in theology, then yes. Like C S Lewis, Pullman is the sort of author who can be a gateway into the Western literary tradition. Like Lewis also, he needs to be read consciously. Agnostic parents who give their children the Narnia books should be aware that these books are brilliant Christian propaganda. And Christian parents who give their children Pullman's trilogy should be aware that it 's brilliant Gnostic propaganda.
In short the comparison with Narnia is apt (despite, or perhaps because, of the fact that Pullman has gone on record about how much he hates the Narnia books). In both cases readers may get considerably more than they bargained for!