5 Reasons Why I Never Finished His Dark Materials

Last week saw the publication of Phillip Pullman’s novel The Secret Commonwealth and a return to the world and characters of His Dark Materials, something that has had fans chomping at the bit all over the world, and yet leaves me strangely at odds with myself. For years I have wrestled with my indifference towards Lyra and her adventures, without ever being able to put a finger on why, and since opportunity provides itself, I’d like to set the record straight and at least try to explain why I won’t be rushing out to grab The Secret Commonwealth, and why Pullman still remains one of my favourite authors of all time.

As a teen I devoured many of Pullman’s stories, from the fairy-tale fantasies of Clockwork and The Firework Maker’s Daughter, to the gothic melodramas of Count Karlstein and The Ruby and the Smoke, but when, aged twelve, my mum presented me with a copy of Northern Lights I felt like a rabbit in the headlights, caught between excitement and anxiety. After several attempts at the first few chapters I floundered in defeat and Mum commandeered the book for herself, proclaiming it a work of genius, whilst I struggled for years to find the courage or inclination to try again.

I fared much better as an adult, but despite Northern Lights and The Subtle Knife having enough energy to pull me through to the very end, two-thirds of the way into The Amber Spyglass I found myself giving up again. Now how could this be? Phillip Pullman and his characters have been an inspiration to me since I was a child and much of his voice and essence finds its way into my writing today, and yet, all these years later, I find myself trying to justifying why I failed to hold out until the end. So… without further ado, and at huge risk of airing some controversial opinions, here I offer you five reasons why I believe I never finished His Dark Materials.

 

1. I just wasn’t ready

There’s so much pressure placed on parents and teachers to ‘track’ their children’s reading age these days, that we forget how silly it is to assume that every child, or indeed person, develops at the same rate and with the same abilities. Some are more attuned to processing data or facts than words and, although I was a child who enjoyed stories and creativity above everything, I simply wasn’t ready for what Northern Lights had to offer.

Much of Pullman’s appeal comes from the sophisticated language and themes that inhabit his work, and Northern Lights, was a step too far for me aged twelve. I’ve always liked to stress over every line, picture every scene (like a movie in my head), and such dense chapters and detailed descriptions made the task feel a little beyond my grasp back then.

 

2. It’s a big commitment

There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who like their books thick as door wedges with as many pages for their money as possible, and those who like their novels short and sweet. I, alas fall into the latter category. It has to be something pretty special to grab my attention and keep me going through three-hundred plus pages, not alone a whole trilogy of doorstops, and although Northern Lights and The Subtle Knife were exciting enough to make me persevere to the last, I’m ashamed to say that two-thirds of the way through The Amber Spyglass, that commitment wavered again. I got restless. I could either see where the book was going, or didn’t care enough to find out, and quickly got distracted by something else shiny and new.

This is a treatment I’ve given to many trilogies over the years, and doesn’t in any way reflect the quality of Pullman’s writing. I once bought Patrick Ness’s critically acclaimed Chaos Walking trilogy with all good intentions, only to end up donating them to a charity shop, unread, some six years later. I devoured Trudi Canavan’s The Magician’s Guild, but only made it half way through book two (The Novice) despite loving it’s characters and world. Why do I do this to myself? Who knows? But I certainly won’t be starting Game of Thrones anytime soon.

 

3: It’s all a bit complicated

At some point you’d expect a trilogy of books that traverse several parallel worlds to get a little complicated, right? And fair enough, the mysteries of dark matter in The Subtle Knife were tantalising enough to keep me hooked, but keeping track of so many characters and threads in my head often left me feeling like I had missed something out. It makes for a story that is hard to dip into when you’ve got a spare five minutes, because if you put it down for any length of time you find yourself loosing the thread of what’s been happening to whom and in what order. Also, it all got a little complicated in a philosophical sense. In his book of essays, Daemon Voices, Pullman tells us himself that his intentions were to use fantasy to say something real, but the third book, to me, became more about symbolism than story, and in my opinion story should always come first.

 

4: I wasn’t that fond of Lyra

Although Lyra’s journey of growth from childhood to maturity was both endearing and emotional, I felt a personal detachment from her and occasionally found I didn’t actually care for her that much at all. She was brattish at times, petty, rude, and probably much more realistic because of it, but it didn’t make her likeable. I felt more like an observer than a traveller by her side, and this detracted from some of her more poignant experiences. There is nothing inherently wrong about having a main character that is not entirely accessible or transparent, as people rarely are in reality, but I did get the sense that I was meant to feel something for her that I never did.

Lyra felt the most accessible and vulnerable to me during those early scenes before she ever reached Svalbard – when her childhood friends were vanishing from the streets. She was unapologetically mischievous then and innocent enough for Mrs Coulter’s poisonous words and temptations to have maximum effect. The story soon became less about Lyra as the multiple perspectives grew, and perhaps that is why I struggled to get a solid picture of her or grasp exactly what she was about.

 

5: It’s not the Pullman I fell in love with

However much he has come to be defined by His Dark Materials, Pullman, to me, is best when tackling folklore and fairy-tales; combining deceptively simple prose with colourful adventures and a lightness of touch that makes his fantasy worlds feel timeless. His Dark Materials is a classic. It will forever mark a defining point in literature, showing the world that stories for children can hold their own against any high-brow literary fiction, but his other works – the ones that define his voice and style as a storyteller – often get overlooked as a result. People inevitably discover Pullman through His Dark Materials, and that’s great, but I hope they will also discover the delectable charms of The Scarecrow and His Servant, solve crimes with Sally Lockhart in Victorian London, go on colourful life-affirming quests with The Firework Maker’s Daughter.

I hope they read his fairy-tales aloud to their kids before bed (as my Grandfather did to me), discover the The Girl with the Butterfly Tattoo, and tell ghost stories about headless huntsmen by firelight. But most of all, I hope adults will not be afraid to read his ‘younger’ fiction, because Pullman’s work has a quality that traverses the boundaries of genre and age, proving that children’s books are not only for children. They are simply great stories, full of hope, adventure and life-affirming characters.

So, I may not be clambering to my nearest bookstore to grab a copy of The Secret Commonwealth, but I’m still eager to share in everyone’s excitement and to continue celebrating the works of one of my favourite authors – one whom injected so much magic and wonder into my childhood. Neither does it stop me from being hugely excited by the prospect of the BBC’s new (and long-overdue) adaptation of Northern Lights, or crushingly disappointed by its awful predecessor The Golden Compass. I am always eager to find new ways into Pullman’s work, because it’s all part of the adventure. And who knows? Maybe I’ll rediscover that inclination along the way and find the urge and courage to discover The Books of Dust for myself.