"The gyptian owner of the boat he was travelling on told him that in gyptian lore, extreme weather had its own state of mind . . .
'How can weather have a state of mind?' said Papadimitriou.
The gyptian said, 'You think the weather is only out there? It's in here too,' and tapped his head.
'So do you mean that the weather's state of mind is just our state of mind?'
'Nothing is just anything,' the gyptian replied."
La Belle Sauvage, page 522
Another review
Yes. I know. It feels like half the world is reading and writing about the new Philip Pullman. A goodly proportion of them actually are. I am a slow reader too, so I will not be amongst the first few to blog about it, or even the first few hundred. But this is too significant a publication to let pass. So here goes anyway. Just another review.
The years around the turn of the century saw two momentous additions to the canon of children's fantasy; two of the most seminal works of 'children's' fiction of their era, and very possibly of all time: J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter sequence and Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy. Each, in their own way, is a masterpiece of imaginative fiction, but, although Harry Potter remains the greater popular phenomenon, His Dark Materials is by far the greater work.
It is one of the finest examples we have of truly original fantasy, involving, as it does, the powerful reimagining of its tropes and conventions; it is a work that treats of profoundly important ideas about the human condition with more reflection-provoking depth than almost any other children's fiction; it conjures images which resonate on numerous levels; and it deals with the universal experience of growing up, of 'coming of age' with a sensitivity and understanding that sets it completely apart and above. It is also a powerfully enthralling and compelling read.
It is not surprising that popular and media excitement about the publication of its sequel has reached something approaching Harry Potter levels, with midnight launches and sold-out editions already being offered at exorbitant prices. All of which, however, begs the question of whether La Belle Sauvage, first part of the proposed Book of Dust, can come anywhere close to the quality and stature of its marvellous predecessor. Philip Pullman has written some fine books before and since, but nothing , so far, to anywhere near equal His Dark Materials, so it is an important question.
Back to Lyra's Oxford
La Belle Sauvage transports us very quickly and easily back into the universe of His Dark Materials or at least into that subset of it that has come to be identified as 'Lyra's Oxford'. This is the world so closely resembling our own, but with the major addition of personal 'dæmons', in the form of animals, as well as some variant Oxford institutions, such as Jordan College. There are familiar characters too, not least Lyra herself, although her presence as a young baby quickly establishes that we are in a time a little before the beginning of Northern Lights. This is a prequel of sorts, although to some extent it seems to lie alongside as much as before. Other known characters are clearly somewhere on the scene too, Lord Asriel and Mrs Coulter amongst them.
We are, however, immediately introduced to new characters too. Primarily, there is eleven year old Malcolm, whose destiny will be to use his beloved canoe, the vessel of the title, to rescue baby Lyra from both a devastating inundation and malevolent human adversaries. He is a most easily likeable boy, an excellent protagonist for this new adventure. Alice, the character who is to emerge as the female 'lead', and accompany the long and difficult journey, is initially presented as less immediately likeable. But we should not judge too quickly, our response will change, or she will, or both. Whether Philip Pullman fans or newcomers to his world, readers will quickly be drawn in, a response assisted in no small part by his unostentateous but truly masterly use of language.
Gripping story
It doesn't take long for a completely engrossing story to emerge and develop. This is in some ways a simpler, more linear narrative than that of the earlier books, but is all the more gripping for it. It is essentially the story of how Malcolm, with Alice playing no small part, saves baby Lyra; of the many hardships suffered, dangers faced and prices paid in doing so. As in the earlier trilogy, the institution of religion is a prime adversary here, with the the 'Magisterium's' henchmen, the 'CCD' (Consistorial Court of Discipline), a truly terrifying organisation not totally unlike the Spanish Inquisition, desperate to bring little Lyra within their clutches. This time, however, it seems not to be Christian religion per se which Philip Pullman presents as the threat, but rather any form of rigid, fundamentalist doctrine that seeks to crush individualism and freedom of thought. This theme is reinforced by the introduction of the truly horrendous 'League of St Alexander', a nightmare organisation that recruits children to report any infringements of the orthodox doctrine, be it in thought word or action, even when the perpetrators are the children's own peers, teachers or family. Such scarcely imaginable sickness immediately echoes the McCarthyite denouncements in Arthur Miller's The Crucible as well as such abominations as the Hitler Youth, and its equivalent in Mao's China or North Korea. Against the 'mind police' in their various forms are ranged the forces of 'Oakley Street', a clandestine organisation dedicated to their defeat. However, although they may be important in the longer term, its members can be of only peripheral help to Malcolm and Alice who must face their task of finding sanctuary for baby Lyra alone.
Indeed Malcolm and Alice have yet more to face beyond the Church and its agents, and in some respects this threat is even more menecing . This comes in the person of a predatory paedophile, Garard Bonneville, a man with superficial, if sickly, charm, but whose true nature is hideously betrayed by his three-legged hyena dæmon, a nightmare creature, persistent gnawing at its own missing limb. The relentless pursuit of Malcom and Alice by this despicable monster is truly terrifying and together with the equally constant threat of the CCD, and the trauma of the flood itself, drives the narrative at devastating, sometimes shocking pace.
How good are the nuns?
However, in this particular book, not all religious institutions suffer the full lash of Philip Pullman's writerly censure. The nuns of the priory, where Lyra is initially cared for, are patently good people, sincere in their faith and kindly in their intentions. Yet even they are not without fault. They are clearly aware of some of the behaviour of the CCD and The League but turn a blind eye to it, or explain it away as something beyond their understanding. Since these organisation are part of the Church they must be for the good, even though the nuns themeselves are not party to understanding how. The extent to which this can be excused is debatable. At best the sisters, like many of us on many occasions, fall into that category of good people who allow evil to flourish by doing nothing. They are at least human.
Nothing is just anything
Of course this book is a companion to His Dark Materials, so whilst La Belle Sauvage is an enthralling story, it is far more too. It is an allegory, but not a blatant or simplistic one. It is not intended to be, nor should it be. This is not a blatant or simplistic book. It draws on the reader's own resources, knowledge and sensitivities as much as on the author's. It challenges assumptions and conventions, without instituting new ones. It provokes resonances rather than imposes ideas. It is after, all a book that stands against the imposition of rigid ideas, so it would be a work of hypocrisy were it guilty of the same itself. It is not a work of hypocrisy. It is a work that liberates thinking, as well as feeling and, indeed, being.
Its resonances are many and hint at a range of sources and influences, as befits a piece of great writing. I for one pick up, in Malcolm's watery wandering , at least some fleeting images of Odysseus, and his long, eventful sea journey. The text's closing quotation, too, seems to flag up some degree of loose shadowing of Spencer's The Faerie Queene.There is also some small way in which Malcolm echoes the biblical Noah, as least in so far as he is the fundamentally good person to whom the task falls of using his boat to save from the devastating flood an element of promise and potential for the future, the seeds of regeneration and new life. Of course we know from the earlier (later) books that Lyra does embody such a instument of future hope, and indeed fulfills her promise, but the question here is what efforts and sacrifices were needed to ensure for her that opportunity.
In another sense, however, this flood is not a 'God' sent purification of the world. Again, we know from the other books that many 'evils' survive it, as well as Lyra. If it is not a completely natural phenomenon, then the implication here is that any 'powers' controlling it come from much older mythologies. Perhaps that makes them more 'natural' too. Whatever, this is a major all-consuming catastrophe from which that hope for the future has to be saved - and saved regardless of the cost. Certainly Malcolm has to sacrifice much, and pays dearly.
The warmth and comfort of the home he has to leave behind is beautifully evoked by the frequent references to simply, homely meals. But such leaving could be considered essential to all growing up, including his. The role he ends up having to fulfill costs him far more than that, and not only in the loss of his adored boat. Ultimately, to protect Alice and Lyra, he must leave himself and do evil that is totally against his very essence. Sacrifices do not come much greater, as many must know who have, against all inclination and moral code, killed in war, to similarly protect what they love and value.
Not only out there, but in here too
La Belle Sauvage is replete with images and archetypes, some conjured or coloured from imagination, many inspired by diverse traditions and literatures. Some are familiar from His Dark Materials, others are new. It strikes me that Philip Pullman's book itself has much in common with the alethiometer which is so central to it.
The narrative spins you around and then shows a number of symbols. Some are easy to identify, many vague or ambiguous. Each have any number of meanings on any number of levels, going ever deeper and more erudite. Some require scholarship and further reading to interpret, others depend more on the sensitivity and openness of the reader. Different readers will understand different things from them. The answers they get will depend on the questions they ask. The book's meaning is not only 'out there' but 'in here' too. It is collaborative thinking, shared imagining, drawing not only on the author's immense talent and erudition, but on the reader's own understanding, experience and sensitivities. It is one of the finest works involving both emotional and intellectual exploration of the human condition. to have come along for a very long time.
Deep and complex and close
And the conclusion? Of course, we must wait and see what the rest of this new trilogy brings. I have every expectation that, as with His Dark Materials, the whole will prove even greater than the parts. But meanwhile La Belle Sauvage has proved to justify every iota of the pre-publication excitement it aroused. It is a virtuoso triumph, displaying coruscating writing talent. It sparkles, albeit rather darkly. This reader found it totally engrossing and richly rewarding. To borrow words from the author himself: 'It was deep and complex and close, and it touched every part of him, body and dæmon and ghost.'
I am sure the rereading that will certainly follow will yield deeper resonances yet. Hold it close. As with ourselves and our world, nothing here is just anything.
