Published in 1995. This Edition: Alfred A. Knopf, 1998.
Winner of the Carnegie Medal, 1995.
Winner of the 70th Anniversary Carnegie of Carnegies (the UK’s favourite Carnegie Medal winning book of all time)
The Golden Compass is bone-chillingly good ( a statement that surely holds some water, when you consider that I read it in decidedly non-frosty tropical temperatures.) Still, I felt the cold—the unmistakable ice-kiss of fear and awe that assails you when, and where, you least expect it.
Lyra Belacqua has been perfectly content to play at full tilt on and around the premises of Jordan College at Oxford, for the entirety of her eleven year-old existence. Brought up in a well-intentioned yet scatterbrained way by the college academics, Lyra has been accustomed to being orphaned, with no blood relations save her oft-absent uncle, Lord Asriel. Though she lacks parental guidance, Lyra is never alone. She basks in the constant company of her dæmon familiar, Pantalaimon. Both her helpmeet and her best friend, Pantalaimon is of Lyra herself: neither she nor he can fathom a reality in which they exist separately. This bond between human and dæmon exists between all humans—to not be thusly companioned would be beyond the realm of belief, and of decency.
Lyra has long dreamed of accompanying Lord Asriel on his mysterious expeditions to the North, but she cannot predict that she will journey there under the oft-terrifying, fantastical circumstances that do take her. The Golden Compass charts her journey to the bitter-cold roof of the world, where Lyra and Pan must confront an evil beyond imagining, from even the most unexpected of sources.
If you are wary of the magical, mythical, extra-terrestrial or para-normal, The Golden Compass (originally entitled Northern Lights, which I prefer) is not the book for you. If you cannot abide an iota of speculation or criticism concerning organized religion, or discomfiting questions about why we believe what we do, then I strongly urge you to read elsewhere. Still, if you’re even the slightest bit curious, and are not averse to the very real possibility of a paradigm shift, then yes… reading this book could well change your life.
Each of the characters of Pullman’s novel is exceptionally well-crafted, whether they be major or minor. We meet and are awed, cowed, wooed and enraged by a host of extraordinary creatures, including my personal favourite, a fallen bear-sovereign, deprived of his ennobling armour, who dulls his bitterness with drink and hard labour. We also encounter a kindly gypsy seer, and the proud, sorrowful witch with whom he shares a storied past. We scoff at the wizened academics of Jordan College; we weep at the tragedy of a young boy’s loss of innocence, and we marvel, open-mawed, at the depiction of one of literature’s best-drawn, ruthlessly ambitious power couples.
Yet for all their fantastical elements, there is no awkwardness about this cast, no barrier separating them from us. They, too, obsess and are filled with equal parts regret for that which they have done and that which they failed to do. They, too, fall prey to vanity. They, too, are hurt for love, and not one of their stories compels you to narrow your eyes in derision, declaring, “Hmph. Only in a fantasy book.”
Set in an age of invention, discovery and conquest, The Golden Compass is littered with marvellous machinery, with vivid descriptions of barges, airships, of hot-air balloons, of instruments hewn with wicked and wistful intent. The most remarkable of all the creations we discover in this novel, however, is the titular object itself, otherwise called the alethiometer. Entrusted to Lyra to give to her uncle, she is told only that it tells the truth, and that she must learn herself how to decipher it—and learn, she does. The descriptions of the alethiometer attest to its beauty, and Lyra’s interactions with it show us, and her, that parsing the truth is an intricate, highly subjective process.
The novel is written in prose that seems, at times, plucked from the pages of a bygone era’s texts, such are its curious lilts and cadences, the peculiar goodness with which something is said, that enriches the very description of it, elevating it from the commonplace. Pullman truly is a turner of phrases. He subjects language to his particular purpose: to charm and captivate us. By my reckoning, he succeeds at that.
I think there has been some sad compromise over the literature to which we expose children, and I wonder at that. Who says that books for young people must be patterned with every prettiness, every convenient lie, every smiling face and sunny sky we can conjure? Detractors will, of course, posit that there is nothing natural about The Golden Compass, but the heart of the novel is filled with every natural feeling in the world, from grim despair to raging passion to lonely, determined resilience. Lyra becomes a benchmark for ourselves, as we wonder, at all that we would or would not do, with our destinies plotted out against the unforgiving, glorious Northern Lights.
“ ‘You speak of destiny,’ he said, ‘as if it was fixed. And I ain’t sure I like that any more than a war I’m enlisted in without knowing about it. Where’s my free will, if you please? And the child seems to me to have more free will than anyone I ever met. Are you telling me that she’s just some kind of clockwork toy wound up and set going on a course she can’t change?’
‘We are all subject to the fates. But we must all act as if we are not,’ said the witch, ‘or die of despair.’ ”
Enjoy another consideration of The Golden Compass by my dear book reviewing colleague, Jennifer of Books, Personally, which examines some issues and concerns that this review doesn’t directly address, here.
This is the first book I’ve read and reviewed on my personal reading list (which you can see here) for The Bookette’s British Book Challenge 2011.
Novel Niche 
Beautiful. I am so glad to know now that you have read this. I feel as though some internally held breath, the breath of my symbolic lungs, has been let out in one grateful and jubilant exhalation! Onward, read onward, dear Shiv!
I agree completely with all that you have said–in fact, if I were to quote the bits I particularly agree with and love, I would simply quote the whole thing back to you. And the quote was beautifully chosen. The witch’s words are one of my favourite lines in this book. I want to add that there is something in the way Pullman writes that makes me feel as though he *trusts* his readers completely–trusts in their intuition and intellect and sense of what is True. He does not mistreat his audience for all that they are assumed to be of the younger set. It reminds me of the way people used to write for children, once upon a time ago. It reminds me of those writers whom I have always loved who did the same, albeit against opposition and criticism (a draught of which Pullman himself was compelled to drink a fair few times over the years since he wrote this most life-changing of narratives–you are right. It does change one’s life. It changes it in the way all things of greatest truth and beauty do).
Ah, we could talk about this book forever, as I know and trust we will. When we are 90, let us keep on talking about this remarkable story that will grow deeper roots within us through all the decades that will chase us down.
LikeLike
My dear M.
What else is there to say to that but a resounding, breathless, ‘Yes!’
A thousand times, yes.
I know we spoke of my surprise at not having immersed myself in Pullman’s oeuvre before, but what you said then still resounds just as truly – that we come to books, or books come to us, as amazing gifts. What they offer us, once we are receptive, is nothing less than transformative, and this has been a remarkable journey for me. I cannot wait to journey further with Lyra and Pan, Lord Asriel and Iorek…and, of course, with you.
LikeLike
Pingback: British Books Challenge @The Bookette | Novel Niche: A Place for Books
What a fantastic review! I really enjoyed this book (though the movie isn’t nearly as good) and I’m glad to see that you did too. It’s one I’ve reread again and again.
LikeLike
I’m so glad to hear that you’ve read this book, and love it too, Amy 🙂 I’ve been quite reticent about seeing the film. I don’t expect it to be even a fraction as good – because, really, could any film capture the entirety of such a book? Now I must get my hands on ‘The Subtle Knife’, post-haste!
LikeLike
Yes, I hope you like the next two books as much!
LikeLike
You are a wonderful writer and review. I look forward to reading more of them.
LikeLike
Thank you for reading, and for leaving such a lovely comment, Linds 🙂 I look forward to keeping up with your reviews, too. I’m also in the process of completing my interview with Kate Evangelista; it was great to read your own interview on her site!
LikeLike
🙂 This book sounds perfect for me! Fantastical :D. Lovely review I love your ending cautionary bit about the manufactured sunshine( all fluffs and happiness) children’s books. I completely agree I like the children’s books that had the fantasy aspect paired with the reality of human emotion.
LikeLike
Thank you for your delightful estimation, Pixxy! I’m quite pleased to see that we agree on there being a serious basis for promoting well-rounded children’s literature. Three cheers to progressive reading material for youths (and adults!)
LikeLike
What a beautifully written review! Just picked this book up (after reading The Magician’s Book, review on my blog) – can’t wait to settle down with it. Look forward to reading more of your reviews.
LikeLike
Thank you for reading and commenting 🙂 I’ve just perused your book review blog, and it is fantastic! I especially love the eclectic variety of literature represented among your reads. ‘The Magician’s Book’ sounds like a work I definitely must read, since I too have been through that journey of deep wonderment, and subsequent disillusionment, over C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia. (Oh, thank you for following me on Twitter! I’ve reciprocated, and am in the process of sending you a private message there.)
LikeLike
Yes. Yes. Yes. The whole series is extraordinary. Brilliant. Other-worldly.
LikeLike
I’m glad you so resoundingly agree, Becky! I’m loving being a part of your BBC (hehe) — I’m currently at work on the review of my second book as part of it, ‘The End of Mr. Y’, by Scarlett Thomas. Reading ‘The Golden Compass’ has shown me that I *must* finish the series, so I will keep you posted on that, too. 🙂
LikeLike
What a great review.
I usually don’t read this kind of books unless they’re written by Neil Gaiman but every time I read a review like this it makes me want to pick it up.
I did see the movie and wasn’t very impressed (maybe because it didn’t have an ending).
LikeLike
Thank you, Zohar. Your reference to Neil Gaiman has made me wonder which book of his I should start with, as an introduction to his work (I’m as-yet unread in the works of Gaiman). Perhaps you have a suggestion, as you seem to be a fan? Also, if you do wind up reading ‘The Golden Compass’, I’d love to know what you thought.
LikeLike
Pingback: Yuletide Books of 2011, and a 2012 Resolution « Novel Niche: A Place for Books