in 1667, John Milton published Paradise Lost, which sought to “justify the ways of God to man”. Milton’s villain, the ultimate villain, really, was Satan, and his rebellion is marked by ambition and tragedy. Centuries later, just 30 years ago, Satan, the serpent and the idea of sin itself were rescued from their archetypes. And the “children’s books” that did so opened up a view of the world that questions rather than obeys, that confronts death rather than fears it. Philip Pullman’s magnum opus, the His Dark Materials trilogy — the first part was published in 1995 — that followed the adventures of Lyra Silvertongue (on the cusp of puberty) was The Rolling Stones to the more popular Beatles (the Harry Potter series). In the last decade, Pullman published another trilogy featuring Lyra, the final part of which has just been published. And like all great tales, this ending too is bittersweet.
In Lyra’s world — a universe both like our own and vastly different — every person has a “daemon”, a part of their personhood that is externalised as an animal. It is this part of boys, and more often, girls, that so many in power seek to control. The part of us that is curious, rebellious, creative and angry; that loves, desires and hates. His Dark Materials challenged ideas of authority, divinity and conventional morality. It spoke to its readers because it did not talk down to them. In the second trilogy, a grown-up Lyra deals with a world that hasn’t lived up to its promise — and her own failings. Now, as she parts, her story will hopefully be read by every young person who seeks to define right and wrong for themselves, without hate, bigotry or oppression.
In most fantasy series, the young hero overcomes an evil monster. Or, they are searching for the paradise that was lost. Pullman, through Lyra, showed people that the monster and the devil might be the real heroes. And paradise is what we make it.
