The Golden Compass

“Something in the way he said it made Lyra imagine dust with a capital letter, as if this wasn’t ordinary dust. The reaction of the Scholars confirmed her feeling, because Lord Asriel’s words caused a sudden collective silence, followed by gasps of incredulity.”

Lyra’s perceptions of new concepts enable Pullman to build worlds with relative ease for the reader. Rather than Lyra already knowing about the Dust and its properties, she’s overhearing it for the first time. This helps readers—who have a learning curve as they adjust to this fantasy world—highlights Lyra’s perceptiveness as a character and raises important questions about the nature of Dust and what it might mean for the rest of the story.

“Lyra has a part to play in all this, and a major one. The irony is that she must do it all without realizing what she’s doing. She can be helped, though, and if my plan with the Tokay had succeeded, she would have been safe for a little longer. I would have liked to spare her a journey to the North. I wish above all things that I were able to explain it to her…”

This conversation relays some expository information about Lyra’s supposed role in the story. This creates tension because Lyra doesn’t know what her role is, and even the audience doesn’t understand why it would be ironic. The suspense of having this knowledge of Lyra’s importance without her understanding it propels the story forward while providing critical context for the reason Lyra gets so much special treatment (not always necessarily in a good way) throughout the story.

“She was proud of her College’s eminence, and liked to boast of it to the various urchins and ragamuffins she played with by the canal or the clay beds; and she regarded visiting Scholars and eminent professors from elsewhere with pitying scorn, because they didn’t belong to Jordan and so must know less, poor things, than the humblest of Jordan’s under-Scholars.”

Lyra shows some degree of elitism here as she embodies the attitudes of the college. Even though she is a child and not a Scholar, she looks down at the Scholars from other places. There are even classist undertones when Lyra deigns to play with gyptian children, which, because she is innocent and young, she does not give much thought to, though she does have some ingrained classist ideas based on how she grew up. This is evident in the diction and choice of words like “urchins” and “ragamuffins,” which also taints the narrator’s lens. Because Lyra is around the attitude of those at Jordan College, she perpetuates some of their classist ideas without realizing it.

“In many ways Lyra was a barbarian. What she liked best was clambering over the College roofs with Roger, the kitchen boy who was her particular friend, to spit plum stones on the heads of passing Scholars or to hoot like owls outside a window where a tutorial was going on, or racing through the narrow streets, or stealing apples from the market, or waging war.”

This description of the usual escapades shows Lyra’s willingness to get in trouble, not for the sake of it but out of a spirit of adventure. This sets the tone for Lyra’s longing for adventure and the bold risks she’s willing to take. While innocent and childlike here, Lyra’s qualities take on a much more serious tone later on as she is forced to be bold and brave on her quest.

“She was to hear a great deal more about it in the months to come, and eventually she would know more about Dust than anyone in the world; but in the meantime, there was all the rich life of Jordan still being lived around her.”

The narrator’s intrusion reveals Lyra’s eventual role in the story as not just an innocent child who gets whisked away in adventure or who falls prey to some prophecy or fate. She will become a learned expert in her time. This shows the audience that Pullman’s protagonist is not a random choice but central to the ideas presented here: She will eventually uncover answers to the questions established early on in the novel about Dust.

“She regarded female Scholars with a proper Jordan disdain: there were such people, but, poor things, they could never be taken more seriously than animals dressed up and acting in a play. Mrs. Coulter, on the other hand, was not like any female Scholar Lyra had seen.”

Lyra is an adaptable character who easily meshes in with many types of people throughout the novel, whether that is the high society she rubs shoulders with at Mrs. Coulters’ party, the gyptian kids running the streets of Oxford, or, in this case, the Scholars at Jordan College. Like a daemon shifting form, she adopts their attitude without thinking much of it, and thus appropriates some of their sexist attitudes toward women. This primes Lyra to be extra surprised and intrigued by Mrs. Coulter, who is a woman Lyra distinguishes as different from the others.

“‘Aren’t I going after all?’ Lyra asked. ‘Yes; I can’t prevent it,’ said the Master, and Lyra didn’t notice at the time what an odd thing that was to say.”

Pullman uses a third-person narrator who closely follows Lyra but sometimes offers commentary outside her point of view to build dramatic tension. These events are taking place in the past, and the narrator is seasoned in the knowledge of what happens, which is evident in moments like these. Lyra thinks the Master should be excited that Lyra is going to live with Mrs. Coulter, but she does not realize how strange his word choice is here. The narrator points this out by calling attention to it as odd, and this immediately establishes the tension because readers know that what is about to happen will likely be bad for Lyra without yet knowing why.

“Mrs. Coulter came into the bathroom to wash Lyra’s hair, and she didn’t rub and scrape like Mrs. Lonsdale either. She was gentle.”

Lyra’s fascination with Mrs. Coulter is easy to understand. She is feminine and kind while still being adventurous and intelligent. She teaches Lyra new things Lyra. However, this moment does not simply serve to show why Lyra likes Mrs. Coulter; it also shows Mrs. Coulter’s relationship with Lyra. Mrs. Lonsdale was washing a roguish girl’s hair; Mrs. Coulter is washing her roguish daughter’s hair. Her affection here, however twisted later, hints that Mrs. Coulter’s connection to Lyra is more than some random happening. Mrs. Coulter is her mother, and in her own way, she has a soft spot for Lyra.

“She bent a little and offered her cheek. Lyra had to stand on tiptoe to kiss it. She noticed how smooth it was, and the slight perplexing smell of Mrs. Coulter’s flesh: scented, but somehow metallic.”

This description of Mrs. Coulter’s texture and scent makes her seem almost robotic and cold. People do not generally smell metallic, and the fact Lyra picks up on this, despite Mrs. Coulter’s skin’s softness, parallels the fact that even though Mrs. Coulter is nice on the outside, she is something else entirely on the inside. Lyra does not read that much into it here, but it is odd enough that she notices.

“Lyra found it was quite easy to pretend to be lighthearted and charming, though she was conscious every second of Pantalaimon’s disgust, and of his hatred for the golden monkey.”

Lyra’s cunning nature and natural charm allow her to move through the cocktail party like Mrs. Coulter has not abused her and Pan. She harbors trauma and may be exhibiting a fawn response here, which causes her to fall in line and appease her abuser until she can make a plan for escape. For most, it would be difficult to suffer physical and emotional abuse and then have to pretend to be happy and chatty with socialites and politicians the way Lyra does shortly after, but it is easy for her because it is her natural trauma response.

“When he was showing them lantern slides, there was another one he had. It was the Roarer—.”

Lyra’s innocent mispronunciation of the word “aurora” once again serves as a reminder that she is an 11-year-old child. Despite her cleverness and bravery, she is young and learning. Lyra’s dialogue in general has a childlike feel, and in this serious discussion, it reminds the reader that Lyra is not a perfect “chosen one” with all the answers. She is a child who is trying to find answers herself.

“...John Faa’s dæmon took off from the back of his chair and flew at them with black wings, not threateningly, but like a reminder of good manners.”

Unlike Mrs. Coulter’s golden monkey who attacks Pan without restraint, John Faa’s dæmon relays his authority without using such extreme tactics. This shows that dæmons reflect the nature and intent of their humans. Lord John Faa loves Lyra and thus wants to put her in her place to keep her safe, so he uses his dæmon to remind her of his authority, which contrasts with Mrs. Coulter’s use of her dæmon to bring Lyra into physical submission through physical and emotional harm.

“After two days at sea Lyra decided this was the life for her. She had run of the ship.”

Even though Lyra begins the journey seasick aboard the gyptians’ ship, she quickly finds ways to combat that by staying busy. Even though she is referred to as a landloper, she manages to use her energy to make the most of life where she is and assert her will. She is a strong character with a lust for life, and even being new to sailing will not stop her, which hints at her resilience—a trait that will be critical for her survival later on.

“‘I must work till sunset,’ he said. ‘I gave my word this morning to the master here. I still owed a few minutes’ work.’ / ’The sun’s set where I am,’ she pointed out, because from her point of view it had vanished behind the rocky headland to the southwest.”

Through this dialogue, Iorek shows his sense of duty to his master, which conveys his commitment to his word and his sense of responsibility. Lyra playfully interprets this, and technically, she is right. Together, they are quite a pair, and this brief interaction between them shows how Iorek’s sense of honor and Lyra’s cleverness will allow them to work together to help achieve their goals.

“[…] Pantalaimon leaped into her arms, pushing and pushing at her in his cat form, and said, ‘Go away! Don’t stay here! Oh, Lyra, go now! Turn back!’”

Pan’s intense reaction to Tony, the boy separated from his dæmon, highlights how horrific an idea this is. His intense love for Lyra and their shared connection makes Pan want to protect her from witnessing something so upsetting. This time, Lyra balances Pan out, because even though she is horrified, she feels sympathy for the boy who did not choose to be separated and is living half-alive. She extends her kindness despite her fear and helps Pan find the strength to endure this moment. As horrifying as it is, they need to look the terror in its face to understand what it is and prevent it from happening again.

“Such brisk fights or scuffles between children’s dæmons were common, luckily, and no one took much notice, but Roger went pale at once. Lyra had never seen anyone so white. He looked up at the blank haughty stare she gave him, and the color flooded back into his cheeks as he brimmed over with hope, excitement, and joy; and only Patalaimon, shaking Salcilia, firmly, was able to keep Roger from shouting out and leaping up to greet his best friend, his comrade in arms, his Lyra.”

Lyra and Roger must play it cool when they first see each other again, and Roger has a harder time doing that than Lyra, who has been well-practiced in the art of lying over the course of the novel. However, their dæmons cannot help themselves from getting excited, and Pan has to reign in Roger through his dæmon, Salcilia. This sweet interaction reminds readers that Lyra and Roger are just children despite everything they have been through. Their innocence and connection are strong in this moment, which makes Roger and Salcilia’s deaths all the more painful.

“Perhaps we don’t mean the same thing by choice, Mr. Scoresby. Witches own nothing, so we’re not interested in preserving value or making profits, and as for the choice between one thing and another, when you live for many hundreds of years, you know that every opportunity will come again.”

Serafina’s lengthy conversation with Lee about fate and life not only reveals information about her character but also witches in general and why their worldviews are so different. Lee, a swashbuckling adventurer from Texas, lives to survive another day and make money. Conversely, because witches live so long, they are more willing to be patient and have seen many things that make them more susceptible to believing in fate.

“When bears act like people, perhaps they can be tricked…When bears act like bears, perhaps they can’t.”

Serafina’s take on the armored bears, though it may seem convoluted, actually hints at something Lyra will use later on to save herself from imprisonment and help Iorek win the throne back from Iofur. Iorek’s downfall from acting on human emotion allowed him to be blindsided, but Lyra learns that Iofur wants to be human more than anything, and to be human is to be trickable. Serafina’s strange hypothesis here later turns into the thread that helps Lyra overcome her predicament with the armored bears.

“Iofur Raknison was even taller and bulkier than Iorek, and his face was much more boiled and expressive, with a kind of humanness in it which she had never seen in Iorek’s. When Iofur looked at her, she seemed to see a man looking out of his eyes, the sort of man she had met at Mrs. Coulter’s, a subtle politician used to power.”

This description of Iofur not only characterizes him but also shows insight into his flaws, offers a callback to the notion Iofur longs to be human, and emphasizes the parallel between him and people like Mrs. Coulter. They are both unrelentingly driven by their desire to control people for their own gain. There is nothing inherently disturbing about human eyes, but there is something unsettling about using the description of an armored bear looking through human eyes. It is not natural, and this highlights the fact that what Iofur wants, a dæmon, is not natural for an armored bear.

“Like a wave that has been building its strength over a thousand miles of ocean, and which makes little stir in the deep water, but which when it reaches the shallows rears itself up high into the sky, terrifying the shore dwellers, before crashing down on the land with irresistible power—so Iorek Byrnison rose up against Iofur, exploding upward from his firm footing on the dry rock and slashing with a ferocious left hand at the exposed jaw of Iofur Raknison.”

This simile leads to the conclusion of the battle between Iorek and Iofur. The image of Iorek’s fur almost like a tsunami emphasizes his incredible strength and power. This action sequence, one of many in the book, is quite long and graphic, and by using figurative language here, Pullman gives readers a clear picture of the choreography of the fight without being overly technical about it.

“Lyra’s father stood there, his powerful dark-eyed face at first fierce, triumphant, and eager; and then the color faded from it; his eyes widened in horror, as he recognized his daughter.”

Lord Asriel’s reaction to Lyra’s appearance is disarming and unexpected because he is her father, and Lyra thinks he will be happy to see her. This facial expression and emotion do not match the situation, revealing instead his horror at her arrival. When he sees Roger standing with her, however, he relaxes. This foreshadows his eventual use of Roger for his experiment. It also may hint that, like Mrs. Coulter, he recognizes what he is doing is wrong; it may be fine for them to hurt other children in the process, but not their Lyra.

“But when the man and the woman knew their own dæmons, they knew what a great change had come upon them, for until that moment it had seemed that they were at one with all the creatures of the earth and the air, and there was no difference between them.”

Lord Asriel’s version of Genesis relies on allusions to the actual religious text, peppered with alterations made to fit Pullman’s fantasy world. Instead of merely being outcast from the Garden of Eden and thus separated from God, humans are burdened with dæmons, a word very close to demon, which is likely no accident. Rather than appreciating the connectedness of humans and their dæmons, Lord Asriel and his version of Genesis laments that connection as the dynamic that separates humans from everything else. A special connection with one being implies less intense connections with others, and from here, these differences and separations are used to justify the beliefs of certain people like Mrs. Coulter.

“Why do they do these things to children, Pan? Do they hate children so much, that they want to tear them apart like this? Why do they do it?”

Lyra’s exclamation to Pan underscores her age and perspective on the subject. She cannot fathom why adults would behave this way, so she cries and asks questions to which she does not really want an answer. Her emotions are palpable, and the bookend repetition of ‘why do they do’ with the italics shifted to a different part of the sentence showcases her inflection as she moves between disgust and anguish.