Note: I want you to understand first that I do not dislike The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass. They are among my favourite books. What follows is occasionally overstated for the sake of clarity.

I will start with characters. Lyra is one of my favourite characters in literature, at least the way we see her in Northern Lights. She is charming, innocent, cynical and utterly dishonest. Pullman cheerfully describes her as a ‘coarse and dirty little savage’ and portrays her as selfish, rude and scheming. Her more positive points include a strong sense of morality and an acute intelligence. All these traits, both good and bad, develop throughout the book until they climax and combine beautifully near the end. For instance, her dishonesty is more rife than ever as we draw to the close, but the zenith of her lies comes in risking her life to save that of her friend Iorek Byrnisson and restore him to the throne. Her previous selfishness is not present here, and neither is it present in her assistance to Tony Makarios and the caged daemons. It can also be observed that her mission subtly transforms from a wish to simply rescue her best friend, to a wish to save all the children from Bolvangar. She never loses her charm, and she never loses any aspect of her character; though they develop and develop fully, she remains the same person from start to finish. Her development is full, convincing and so satisfying I for one felt no nostalgia for her previous state.

Not so with The Subtle Knife. To address Lyra’a character first, superficially she appears to possess the same characteristics: habitually dishonest, loyal, fierce, moral and still occasionally very selfish. But not only do these lose the growing unification and refinement began in Northern Lights, Lyra seems to have lost one of her important traits: intelligence. Never in Northern Lights would she have made the horrendous mistakes she does in The Subtle Knife. She might have disregarded the alethiometer’s guidance, but she would not have done it thoughtlessly as she does in The Subtle Knife. And never would she have made such an appalling mistake in lying as she does when she reveals she knows Will. It is also hard to square her failure to notice the absence of a heavy gold instrument in her bag with a girl who is smart and observant. I do not expect her to remain the same as in Northern Lights; I am not against character development – in fact, this is the problem as I see it; Lyra seems to actually devolve. Her intelligence remains absent in The Amber Spyglass. I would not call her stupid, but she occasionally seems barely competent. Will once says of her, ‘I think she’s braver than me’, but God only knows how he works it out, because all the evidence of The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass indicates Lyra to be a silly little girl who needs Will to save her on most occasions. Pullman retains her fierceness, but perhaps because she now lacks the intellect to guide it, her outbursts seem more futile and more and more like tantrums as the end of the trilogy draws on.

Of course, come the second volume there is a new main character. Will is undeniably strong in his characteristics from the start, like Lyra, but unlike her he does not slowly lose them through the course of the books. In himself it is hard to fault Will, except that he could have stood to develop more. He begins as a fierce miserable boy, and ends his term in the same manner. It would be nice to see him learn more from his adventures. This is signified by his end in the trilogy; while Lyra surmises the message of the trilogy in hers, Will must be content with a cup of tea. My main criticism is not of him, but the effect his presence in the book has on Lyra. The observations I have made on her character seem because of – or multiplied by – Will. His fierceness seems to require Lyra’s meekness; his street-wise intelligence her innocent incompetence; his strength her weakness.

Were this true of only The Subtle Knife, I would not mind so much, since that is really Will’s book and not Lyra’s. However, the children continue in these roles through The Amber Spyglass. From the opening (eight) chapters, where the adventures exclude Lyra entirely, to moments like Will’s meeting with Iorek (where Will is brave enough to face Iorek down, paling the moment where Lyra stops him from killing a man – in Northern Lights - in comparison) and through to the conclusion where Lyra can only stamp and cry while Will’s role is the brave breaking of the knife. To be fair, Lyra’s character does develop from the start of The Subtle Knife to the end of The Amber Spyglass (I cannot imagine The Subtle Knife’s Lyra would have accepted her parting from Will), but it is not along the superior path we were promised in Northern Lights.

Lyra is not the only character who I feel fares better in Northern Lights than in the other books. For instance, I much prefer Mrs. Coulter’s character in the former. As Lord Asriel points out in The Amber Spyglass, Mrs. Coulter is turned into ‘a doting mother’ with her poison drawn and her teeth taken out. The other side of her nature, that which tore children apart, tortured for information and killed men casually, is missing. Lord Asriel, who killed his daughter’s best friend, seems equally sanitised. Iorek Byrnison loses the alien power he possesses in Northern Lights. Serefina Pekkela fares better, but then she was barely present in Northern Lights.

As important as character is language. This was, in my opinion, one of the most impressive aspects of Northern Lights. Pullman’s dramatic language creates some of the most powerful scenes I have read (such as Lyra and Panatalaimons near-separation, and the end of the book). I do not feel the language in The Amber Spyglass has the same flair. I feel the same about The Subtle Knife, but strangely (for I usually consider The Subtle Knife my least favourite of the trilogy) less so. The language is not powerful in the ways that that of Northern Lights is - but in keeping with my theory that each book deals most with one aspect of the tri-nature of humans, and The Subtle Knife handles the ‘body’ part - the language is most powerful talking about physical feelings and violence.

One trait that annoys me in the later books, barely present in Northern Lights, is the way dialogue is carried, and Pullman’s curious, awkward habit of putting the carrier before the dialogue. For instance, a chapter in The Subtle Knife starts with ‘Will said, ‘Who is this man who’s got the knife?’’ This breaks the rhythm, so the sentence seems to stumble. For a writer whose sense of rhythm is very important to him, and normally impeccable, it is a feature that breaks the flow of the story for me. A small criticism it may seem – and I suppose it is – but it is regular enough to be irritating.

On a related note, I believe the dialogue is far superior in Northern Lights to The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass. This becomes especially apparent in listening to the audiotapes. Whereas the actors were able to act the lines of Northern Lights naturally, in the later books, the lines often sound stilted, or portentous and mythological, like lines Tolkein would favour (no bad thing in Tolkein, but this is Pullman).

As I have mentioned, The Subtle Knife succeeds to some degree in matching the drama of Northern Lights, with a different focus. The Amber Spyglass tends much more towards sentiment than moving drama. The pinnacles of emotion are Lyra and Pantalaimon’s parting, and then that of Will and Lyra. But unlike the electrifying language of Northern Lights, and the violent, exhausting language of The Subtle Knife, these moments are subdued and sad rather than upsetting. Even the moments of physical drama – such as the battle on the plains – do not come close to the drama of Northern Lights.

Finally, I will talk about structure. This is, again, one of Northern Light’s best features. The structure is not conventional, but it is incredibly effective. Pullman breaks up the beginning interestingly, turning the third chapter into a description of Lyra’s life, mixed with plot-advancing events so that nothing seems contrived, and the passage of time is conveyed. The three-part structure seems to extend the timeline without actually extending the text. This structure contrasts with most books, particularly children’s books: these tend to grow to one dramatic conclusion; the drama and emotion grow throughout, and the closing chapters are unequalled in both. Most impressive of these unconventionalities, in my opinion, is the three-part climax.

Northern Lights splits its resolution into three parts: firstly, Lyra and Pantalaimon’s relationship and that of all daemons and humans, as well as the Gobblers plot strand and Mrs. Coulter’s part (mostly) is brought to a climax in chapters sixteen and seventeen. And that climax is itself split up, into the emotional drama of Lyra and Pantalaimon’s near parting and the physical drama of the escape and battle.

Iorek and Lyra’s relationship, the bear-human comparison, the alethiometer, Lyra’s skill at lying, and other aspects of her character such as bravery and intelligence, are brought to the peak in the second climax, where Lyra tricks Iofur Raknison into fighting Iorek Byrnison. Like the above climax, this is split into the emotional (or more cerebral) drama of Lyra’s tricking of Iofur, and the physical drama of the bear’s fight.

Finally, Lord Asriel’s part, the city in the sky, the aurora, Iorek’s part, Lyra’s part, Lyra’s relationship with her father, Dust and things which we thought had concluded, and are all the more moving for their unexpected reprisal (Lyra and Pantalaimon, human-daemon relationship, Roger’s role and Mrs. Coulter’s role). Also, the prophecies about Lyra, which have been foreshadowed, start to be realised. Once again the drama is split into emotional and physical – though in this final climax the emotional part is mixed with physical too.

The Subtle Knife has no such unconventional excellence. It builds – effectively but not faultlessly – towards one single climax. Also, I feel the switching of perspectives was to compensate for a lack of central plot – or rather, a lack of development of this plot. Still, the structure is perfectly good if less imaginative.

As for the structure of The Amber Spyglass, I have to have I did not notice any. The book meandered from start to finish, fast-paced enough for the most part, but following no coherent story. The highest point of drama comes about three-quarters of the way through, and no drama – certainly no physical drama – occurs for the rest of the book. It can be argued that the drama comes in purely emotional terms, in Lyra and Will’s falling in love. However, I do not believe this is enough for the sort of book The Amber Spyglass – and His Dark Materials as a whole – is. It is true that character and philosophical/theological themes are incredibly important, and these are brought to an effective close in the final chapters. But the books are also event-based, and the lack of a strong physical drama (or, in fact, any physical drama at all) damages the ending.

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