62 out of 62 people found this review helpful.
Brutal and evocative
Date of Review: Mar 6, 2001
The Bottom Line: Too scary for children (and me!), this is a work of great imagination and scope
I don't know if it's true or merely urban legend that when amputees lose a limb they can sometimes feel it itch.
In The Golden Compass, Philip Pullman has given me a phantom limb that's itching like crazy. Daemons. All humans in Pullman's fantasy world have a non-mirror, non-twin, animal spirit guide, soul, spiritual half, echo, ghost, best friend, other rolled into one that's called a daemon. These daemons have the form of animals and are inextricably linked to their humans; if one dies, the other dies.
For those of us who are fascinated by animals, reading about a daemon reminds us of an irresistible urge. Daemons aren't animals (though what they are is left a bit up in the air), but the urge is still there. Imagine an animal that returns your love, measure for measure, that is intelligent, can speak, is both autonomous and wholly dependent on you (as you are on it), and is a link to a spirit realm of magic. (It's an intoxicating thought, and I'm rather drunk on it.)
This magic, rather like CS Lewis's "Deep Magic" in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, isn't precisely new. Philosophers have long debated the mind/body duality, and Pullman's daemons simply go one step further, with a mind/soul duality. (And, like Lewis, Pullman's story ends with deeply religious undertones.)
If you can't tell by now, I want a daemon. The idea feels so right that I feel a bit lonely for not having one.
As The Golden Compass opens, Lyra Belacqua and her daemon Pantalaimon enter the forbidden Retiring Room at Jordan College, Oxford. There, the girl and her daemon witness the Master of the College sneaking into the room to put poison into the wine meant for Lord Asriel, Lyra's famous and powerful uncle who has just returned from an expedition in the North.
When the Master leaves, Lyra stops the attempted poisoning by hiding in the wardrobe (which is filled with robes and furs in an interesting Lewis allusion) and awaiting Lord Asriel's appearance. Her warning, despite her crime of being present in the forbidden room, earns her the right to stay hidden during a meeting between Asriel and the Scholars, a meeting where Lyra learns too many things about the strange magic that abides in her world. Soon, she will be taken from Oxford and embroiled in a plot to steal children from their homes for nefarious purposes. Each plot point spins so well upon the others that I hesitate to describe the specifics of the plot any further.
The beginning was a bit rocky, as I was trying to assimilate terms, names, and ideas that were completely unfamiliar to me. Lyra is not an immediately appealing character, though Pantalaimon is, and she doesn't behave quite as I would have expected her to behave. Still, the meeting of the Scholars and Asriel will echo through the entire novel, and while Lyra never becomes a thoroughly likable character, she definitely improves upon acquaintance.
Characterizations throughout the novel are relatively shallow with, strangely enough, a bear as the most well-rounded--human--of the characters. But the characters are rarely cliched and often act in unpredictable ways. (Perhaps my love for Lewis makes me see similarities where they do not exist; but Mrs. Coulter, a beautiful young woman who comes to take Lyra away from Oxford, reminded me of the White Witch and her offers of Turkish Delight to Edmund.)
Pullman's writing never gets in anyone's way. I found it neither noticeably lyrical nor noticeably clunky, and with a novel as plot-driven as this one, the fact that he keeps rolling along is much appreciated.
The plot is very original, dealing with metaphysical perils, bureaucratic corruption, and scientific experimentation in novel, and chilling, ways. My only real annoyance with the plot was the standard Messianic theme that so many fantasy writers embrace. I don't so much mind the theme itself as having it foreshadowed "Person X is our only hope but I won't tell Person X or my reader why that is so" or the silly plot complication of "Person Y knows what's going to happen but isn't allowed to stop Person X from making horrible mistakes." Both of these contrivances strike me as laziness on the part of the author. Does having Lyra's role in her own fate foreshadowed really increase a reader's appreciation of the ending? No, though it does soften the potential blow somewhat.
The ending, coupled with a number of terrifying ideas, gruesome violence, and very brief sexual references makes me wonder why this is sometimes classified as a children's novel. Yes, certain of the themes are appealing to children, especially those of loneliness and survival, and the daemons are enchanting. And perhaps I'm simply underestimating the resilience of today's children, but I think I would have been deeply disturbed by many of the themes of this novel, which at least touch on child abuse, torture, betrayal, murder, medical experimentation, loss of identity, and deep-seated grief. Many children's novels handle one or more of these ideas, but usually with more resolution, more answers than Pullman gives.
This story is quite grim, with very little humor to lighten the load. But it is a powerful tale, skillfully told. If the other novels in the trilogy can measure up, Pullman has written an astonishing work of high fantasy.
