In a landmark epic of fantasy and storytelling, Philip Pullman invites readers into a world as convincing and thoroughly realized as Narnia, Earthsea, or Redwall. Here lives an orphaned ward named Lyra Belacqua, whose carefree life among the scholars at Oxford's Jordan College is shattered by the arrival of two powerful visitors. First, her fearsome uncle, Lord Asriel, appears with evidence of mystery and danger in the far North, including photographs of a mysterious celestial phenomenon called Dust and the dim outline of a city suspended in the Aurora Borealis that he suspects is part of an alternate universe. He leaves Lyra in the care of Mrs. Coulter, an enigmatic scholar and explorer who offers to give Lyra the attention her uncle has long refused her. In this multilayered narrative, however, nothing is as it seems. Lyra sets out for the top of the world in search of her kidnapped playmate, Roger, bearing a rare truth-telling instrument, the compass of the title. All around her children are disappearing--victims of so-called "Gobblers"--and being used as subjects in terrible experiments that separate humans from their daemons, creatures that reflect each person's inner being. And somehow, both Lord Asriel and Mrs. Coulter are involved.
ONE
THE DECANTER OF TOKAY
Lyra and her dæmon moved through the darkening hall, taking care
to keep to one side, out of sight of the kitchen. The three great tables
that ran the length of the hall were laid already, the silver and the
glass catching what little light there was, and the long benches were
pulled out ready for the guests. Portraits of former Masters hung high
up in the gloom along the walls. Lyra reached the dais and looked back
at the open kitchen door, and, seeing no one, stepped up beside the high
table. The places here were laid with gold, not silver, and the fourteen
seats were not oak benches but mahogany chairs with velvet cushions.
Lyra stopped beside the Master's chair and flicked the biggest glass
gently with a fingernail. The sound rang clearly through the hall.
"You're not taking this seriously," whispered her dæmon. "Behave
yourself."
Her dæmon's name was Pantalaimon, and he was currently in the form
of a moth, a dark brown one so as not to show up in the darkness of the
hall.
"They're making too much noise to hear from the kitchen," Lyra whispered
back. "And the Steward doesn't come in till the first bell. Stop
fussing."
But she put her palm over the ringing crystal anyway, and Pantalaimon
fluttered ahead and through the slightly open door of the Retiring Room
at the other end of the dais. After a moment he appeared again.
"There's no one there," he whispered. "But we must be quick."
Crouching behind the high table, Lyra darted along and through the door
into the Retiring Room, where she stood up and looked around. The only
light in here came from the fireplace, where a bright blaze of logs
settled slightly as she looked, sending a fountain of sparks up into the
chimney. She had lived most of her life in the College, but had never
seen the Retiring Room before: only Scholars and their guests were
allowed in here, and never females. Even the maid-servants didn't clean
in here. That was the Butler's job alone.
Pantalaimon settled on her shoulder.
"Happy now? Can we go?" he whispered.
"Don't be silly! I want to look around!"
It was a large room, with an oval table of polished rosewood on which
stood various decanters and glasses, and a silver smoking stand with a
rack of pipes. On a sideboard nearby there was a little chafing dish and
a basket of poppy heads.
"They do themselves well, don't they, Pan?" she said under her breath.
She sat in one of the green leather armchairs. It was so deep she found
herself nearly lying down, but she sat up again and tucked her legs
under her to look at the portraits on the walls. More old Scholars,
probably; robed, bearded, and gloomy, they stared out of their frames in
solemn disapproval.
"What d'you think they talk about?" Lyra said, or began to say, because
before she'd finished the question she heard voices outside the door.
"Behind the chair -- quick!" whispered Pantalaimon, and in a flash Lyra
was out of the armchair and crouching behind it. It wasn't the best one
for hiding behind: she'd chosen one in the very center of the room, and
unless she kept very quiet...
The door opened, and the light changed in the room; one of the incomers
was carrying a lamp, which he put down on the sideboard. Lyra could see
his legs, in their dark green trousers and shiny black shoes. It was a
servant.
Philip Pullman was born in Norwich, England and was brought up in Rhodesia, Australia, London and Wales. Philip graduated from Oxford University in 1973 with a degree in English, and has taught middle school at Westminter College. He is the author of many highly-acclaimed books for young readers, from contemporary fiction to Victorian thrillers, and has written plays and picture books for readers of all ages. Philip's current book, The Golden Compass , has been hailed as "a rich combination of high fantasy, high drama, and intense emotion" by author Lloyd Alexander, and "extraordinary storytelling at it's very best" by the Detroit Free-Press .
Philip currently lives in Oxford with his wife, Judith, and children.
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