The Looking Glass : New Perspectives on Children's Literature, Vol 8, No 1 (2004)

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Alice's Academy

Elizabeth L. Pandolfo Briggs, editor

What Makes a Classic? Daemons and Dual Audience in Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials

Susan R. Bobby

Susan R. Bobby is Assistant Professor of English at Wesley College in Dover, Delaware. She teaches Freshman Composition and Literature, Expository Writing, Adolescent Literature, and a special topics course on Classic and Contemporary Fairy Tales. Past conference presentations for the Northeast Modern Language Association (NEMLA) include the topics of combating grade inflation in freshman composition and Kate Chopin and transcendentalism. She presented a paper on daemons and dual audience in His Dark Materials at the Popular Culture Association Conference in April 2003; this article evolved from that presentation. She will chair a panel on Pullman's work at the upcoming NEMLA Conference to be held in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, in March 2004. She earned her M.A. in English from Millersville University of Pennsylvania in 1993.

Scholars have spent a fair amount of time exploring Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy, educating us on its weighty literary inspirations and why it is an important work of fiction. Explaining the necessity and appeal of daemons in the trilogy (which are probably the most fascinating aspect of the books for readers) has proved a more daunting task. Getting a good handle on daemons is like trying to grasp a child's daemon as its form continually morphs. In her article Susan R. Bobby pins down daemons for us, fixing them in a fresh light for us to observe.


In "The Republic of Heaven", when Philip Pullman discusses his preference for the novels of Jane Austen over the works of C.S. Lewis or J.R.R. Tolkien, the reader may initially be surprised. After all, isn't his epic trilogy His Dark Materials a work of inventive fantasy? To the contrary, Pullman contends, for he believes his work combines elements of fantasy and realism to reflect a truer world than "the artificiality of the Shire" (661). An avid believer in humanity's sensual connection to their contemporary world, Pullman asserts "If the republic doesn't include fantasy, it won't be worth living in [....] But inclusiveness is the whole point: the fantasy and the realism must connect" (661). In making such a statement Pullman may have inadvertently answered for readers why his works are classics. If we define classic literature as works that endure over time, that appeal to readers of all ages, backgrounds, and levels of education, and that bridge categories, then we may conclude Pullman has garnered a place among literary greats during his lifetime--a remarkable feat. But what makes his seminal work, His Dark Materials , appeal to so many readers on so many levels? Is it his sophisticated prose, the allusions to other classic works, the intertwining plots and subplots, the recurring, memorable characters, or the frank discussion of the battle between man and God over the kingdom versus the republic of heaven? Certainly all those things make the trilogy remarkable, yet a particular characterization rises about the rest and gives Pullman's work the ability to appeal to all readers: the characterization of daemons. Daemons, though not a new concept, are given life and development in the trilogy. Through his acute awareness of audience, Pullman's work is both a critical and commercial success. Because his characterization of the daemon takes into account the interests of both young and adult readers, he connects beautifully with readers from a larger spectrum.

Audience Awareness = Critical and Commercial Success

Pullman's intricately crafted epic will undoubtedly endure, because his novels encourage multiple readings with close attention to word choice and meaning. There is definitely something in Pullman's work for scholars to sink their teeth into, mysteries to unravel and new meanings to discover, and this is certainly due to the underlying myth that grounds his tale and his use of literary and spiritual allusions. In fact, the plethora of references to poetry and Bible verses, particularly in The Amber Spyglass, seems a deliberate intention on his part to help the reader understand his vision. Not only does he begin this text with excerpts from Blake, Rilke, and Ashbery, but each chapter is headed by a brief quote which very succinctly prefaces the chapter's theme, a technique which likely aids young readers in a better understanding of his work. His consciousness of the broadness of his audience is also shown through his excerpt choice, as he includes Biblical verses and literary selections from writers spanning centuries of European and American literature. Despite the allusions, though, Pullman's work is often labeled "children's literature," a category with which he is not exactly comfortable. Pullman insists he writes with everyone in mind: he envisions himself sitting "[...] on a piece of worn-out carpet in a big market square [....] and an audience begins to gather. First one person, and then another. They are of all ages. And I don't exclude anyone. My only awareness of the audience is that I want as big an audience as I can get [...] (qtd. in Alderdice 119). He adds, "If horses, dogs, cats, or pigeons could read, they'd be welcome to it as well. I don't want to shut anyone out" ("Pullman in his own" 2).

It is perhaps this awareness of audience that has made Pullman's trilogy so successful, in that he has won the Whitbread Prize in both children's and adults' categories, an "unprecedented honor" (Stuttaford 56). As Boehning explains, "It takes a remarkable book to cross over from the juvenile to the adult division of a major publisher. Philip Pullman's The Golden Compass, an ambitious fantasy inspired by John Milton's Paradise Lost [...] is such a book" (175). First, Northern Lights [1] won the Carnegie Medal in Britain in 1996, the Guardian Children's Fiction Award, and was also honored with the British Children's Book of the Year status (Andronik 44). In addition, the audiotape recordings, narrated by Pullman himself, are " 'Audie' " winners (44). Interestingly, when The Amber Spyglass won the Whitbread Book of the Year in 2002, the judges were said to have made their decision with both "speed and unanimity" (Townsend 415). Jon Snow, a broadcaster who led the judges' panel, is quoted as saying Pullman's text is " 'astonishing .... It outstripped everything else we looked at in the shortlist. It was head and shoulders out there' " (415). Evidence of Pullman's literary mystique worldwide was shown when advance orders of The Amber Spyglass pushed the book to an amazing number eight on the best seller list two weeks before it was available for purchase (Jones 2). Undoubtedly, when an author's work is compared to that of "Chekhov, Dickens, Tolkien, Blake, and Milton" (deBertodano 3), it is not difficult to see why his writing has garnered such accolades from readers of all ages as well as literary critics.

Yet there is one element to Pullman's trilogy that sets it apart from other "fantasy" literature, and it is that he bridges the worlds of fantasy and realism by providing his daemons with characterization. Daemons, the hook that pulls us into Lyra's world, take the form of animals, yet remain the "[...] outward manifestation of the person's soul" (Maughan 25). The daemons are as important as the human characters in Lyra's world. Had Pullman not invested so much into their dialogue, their appearance, their function, and their connection to the human characters in his trilogy, it might not have attained such universal appeal.

Daemons and Young Readers

One of the simplest ways for young readers to imagine the strange nature of daemons in Lyra's world is to think of them as pets who can magically speak, although their importance to humans in the texts evokes their equality rather than their subservience. Pullman connects with children through his depiction of the emotional and physical tie between daemon and human. For instance, by explaining that daemons and humans can only separate a few yards from one another or face immense physical and emotional trauma, called "pulling", he relates to children who find their relationship with a beloved pet to be more intimate than their relationships with others. Noticeably, Lyra uses the pronouns "we" and "our", since she is most concerned with herself AND Pantalaimon. Therefore, by reading of the time Pan attempts to pull from Lyra to keep her safe from the formidable Iorek Byrnison, the child can empathize with Lyra's intense emotional outcry. As she scales the fence to reach Pan, she "[...knows] she would rather die than let them be parted and face that sadness again; it would send her mad with grief and terror" (Golden 196) [2].

It seems intentional, then, that as Lyra leaves him for the land of the dead Pan takes the form of a whimpering puppy, an image to which a child will most certainly relate. "He seemed to be so young, a cub, a puppy, something helpless and beaten, a creature so sunk in misery that it was more misery than creature" (Amber 284). However, Pan is no mere pet. In fact, Lyra expresses deep offense at Mrs. Coulter's suggestion that post-separation her daemon would still be with her, " '[...] like a wonderful pet' " (Golden 284). Horrified, Lyra sees severing as a "[reduction]" of "her dear soul, the daring companion of her heart" (Golden 284). Her reaction demonstrates to young readers that the daemon and human must be equal, not master and servant; similarly, children experiencing a relationship with an animal in our world learn to respect their best friend.

Additionally, the human-daemon link represents conflicts between internal and external expressions. Various passages in the trilogy reveal instances when the children (or the adults) behave in one way while daemons betray predominant yet hidden emotions. For instance, in The Golden Compass, as Lyra enters the fish house to investigate the supposed "ghost", Pan's wild body language reflects what Lyra truly feels, even though on the surface she masters her fear as Iorek has instructed. "[...] Pantalaimon was no help, running back and forth in his ermine shape, [...] uttering little frightened sounds" (212). On occasions too numerous to count, Pan's physical form displays the most accurate representation of Lyra's emotions: some of the most dramatic scenes occur when Lyra is provoked and Pan becomes a snarling leopard, a small dragon, or an agitated bird.

Adults' emotions are also revealed by their daemons, often when they don't wish them to be. Specifically, Mrs. Coulter's true feelings surface when she appears to be politely inquiring about Lyra's knowledge of Dust while at the same time her golden monkey's fur stands on end: she "[grabs] his fur so tight her knuckles [go] white" (Golden 83). Through Pan's guidance, Lyra learns to decipher others' body language, whether it supports or defies the words they speak, to learn who can and cannot be trusted. One may conjecture that the sheer length of the trilogy comes from Pullman having not one, but two sets of body language to describe!

In addition, the child's daemon has the uncanny ability to morph into various species, evoking the child's evolving emotional states. For instance, when Lyra is cautious, Pan becomes a moth, bird, or mouse; he becomes a raging lion or small dragon when she is threatened, and he becomes a slinky ermine to comfort her while she sleeps. Thus the physical form and the body language of the daemon reflect outwardly the internal consciousness, teaching young readers that while they may act on impulse and exhibit their emotions, adults learn to disguise their emotions. Pullman teaches children that human behavior is quite complex: people are not always what they seem. In addition, the constant changing of forms, contrasted with the adults' daemons who have "settled", evokes a paramount concern for children and adolescents: identity confusion. Adolescents do not yet know who they "are" or what they will "be." As Lyra's "friend the able seaman" reveals, " '[...] there's compensations for a settled form' [....] 'Knowing what kind of person you are' " (Golden 166-67).

Daemons rarely disagree with their human counterparts, often solving differences for the children as role models. For instance, when Annie declares she wants to accompany Lyra in her investigation of the Experimental Station, their daemons fight the battle in place of the children themselves: "Their two daemons were staring at each other, Pantalaimon as a wildcat, Annie's Kyrillion as a fox. They were quivering. Pantalaimon uttered the lowest, softest hiss and bared his teeth, and Kyrillion turned aside and began to groom himself unconcernedly" (Golden 268). When daemons DO disagree with the children, it is primarily because daemons can see a step ahead of the child to consequence, acting in loco parentis. Through The Golden Compass, when Lyra is least mature, Pan acts as her parent by warning her of danger, chiding her for breaking rules, and reprimanding her foolhardy actions. In effect, he becomes the voice of "I told you so."

Readers may also note that the roles are reversed in The Subtle Knife: when Pan is more apt to be silly and irresponsible, Lyra declares maturity by accepting the parental role, acting more responsibly and attempting to foresee the consequences of her actions. For example, when Lyra wonders aloud about the identity of Will's father, Pan urges her to question the alethiometer, to which she reflects, " 'I might have done once' [...] 'but I'm changing, I think, Pan' " (259). Pan's more childlike reaction is to "[sulk]" and change rapidly from pig to squirrel to lighten the mood (259-60). Furthermore, various textual references cite the subtle shift in balance of power between human and daemon. The ability to change forms proves children's daemons hold more power than children do, while an adult grown mature holds more power than the settled daemon, grown weary of constant change. Therefore, Lyra's evolution is further magnified by the role reversal with her daemon.

A final interesting diversion for children is to wonder what form their own daemons would take. There is much in the text to shed light on this idea, especially when, in The Golden Compass, the seaman tells Lyra that she can't choose her daemon's form, that he will choose his own (167-68). This is akin to saying to a child that one cannot reject part of one's nature: if one prefers serving others, one's daemon will settle as a dog, but if one is deceptive and crafty, one's daemon may settle as a serpent. Pullman has revealed we should ask our friends what forms our daemons would take, because our friends may be more honest about our true nature than we would be ourselves ("Philip Pullman in his" 4). In fact, children may be surprised to know that Pullman sees his own daemon as a jackdaw or magpie, since he explains " 'A magpie is a thief: it takes the things that belong to someone else, bright and shiny things--and makes them his own. And that's what writers do, isn't it? ' " (Andronik 43). Interpreting how their own daemons would "settle" is a way for children to become conscious of holding two personas in one body: they are the person inside and the person outside, and the "settled" daemon sheds light on their true natures.

Daemons and Adult Readers

Now adult readers of Pullman's trilogy may be attracted to the daemon for entirely different reasons. Adults may wish to further investigate Pullman's sources for the daemon. He explains that when he was writing the first book, he was hit with writer's block until he wrote the line " 'Lyra and her daemon' ", and in a burst of what he describes as " 'automatic writing', " (qtd. in Andronik 42) he suddenly " [...] realized that everyone in Lyra's world had a daemon; and at first, all the daemons could change form from one animal to another" (42-43). It was his further refinement of the characterization of daemons, the fact that they eventually would " 'settle'," that solidified his concept and " '[drove] the story' " (43). Initially, Pullman claims he had no idea where the idea of daemons came from, but further investigation reveals a bit of inspiration in the form of a work of art. Once, in Poland, Pullman saw a painting by DaVinci of a young girl holding an ermine, and the connection between the two was so evident, that he envisioned Lyra and Pantalaimon. He describes, " 'And while she [the girl in the painting] is dressed much more elegantly than Lyra would be, if you made a few small alterations--yes, she could be Lyra' " (43) [3].

Yet there are other sources for the daemon. Research reveals that the daemon is "[...] a concept developed from ancient Greek mythology" (Townsend 416). Socrates, for instance, believed he had a daimon, an entity much like the daemons in Lyra's world, that would warn him of consequences of his actions and that served as a spirit guide or conscience to him to lead him through his life. Daimons in the Greek tradition were demigods, and their ability was akin to a second sight. Reginald Merton , in "The Nature of the Daimon," states that some men heard the voice of the conscience clearly and believed an "intelligent being was about them" and called it a daimon (1). According to Merton, Socrates said " 'the favor of the gods has given me a marvelous gift, which has never left me since my childhood. It is a voice which, when it makes itself heard, deters me from what I am about to do and never urges me on' " (1). This description fits both the daemon and alethiometer in Pullman's trilogy. Merton goes on to say that Socrates' daimon had an intelligence separate from his own, but could also see both past and future events and the consequences of his [Socrates'] actions (1-2). Raghavan Iyer concurs in "The Daimon," explaining "the philosophic conviction that each human being is guarded by his or her own spiritual genius was strongly held in Roman times" (1). The belief in these "mediating spirits" was tradition in "ancient Athens" and "Vedic India" (1), and even Ghandi spoke of his " 'inner voice' "(1). One can see, then, how a daimon or daemon could easily be compared to the guardian angels of Christianity.

The daemon, pronounced like the Judeo-Christian word "demon", is anything but a demon. In fact, it may be that Pullman chose to spell and pronounce his spirit guides in Lyra's world in a way that would make Christians initially react with horror, or at the very least skepticism. As Will explains when he first encounters Lyra and Pan, " 'In my world demon means ... it means devil, something evil' " (Subtle 21). Yet readers soon find out that a character's daemon is rather like a guardian angel, looking out for his or her human companion and providing security in times of loneliness. In fact, when Will, who is from our world, is confronted by Lyra's use of the words "we" and "us" to refer to herself and Pan, he is overwhelmed by a sense of isolation at the realization that he has no daemon: "Will looked at the two of them, the skinny pale-eyed girl with her black rat daemon now sitting in her arms, and felt profoundly alone" (Subtle 25). Thus on the simplest level, a daemon in Pullman's world is an animal companion to each human spirit, but just as Pullman's work can be analyzed on various levels of interpretation, so can the daemon and its symbolic representations.

Certainly adults are drawn to the daemons for the same reasons children are, yet daemons are also part of Pullman's literary mission, his wish to comment on the path from innocence to experience. [4] Readers of the trilogy know that Dust = Original Sin, and that dust is attracted to adults in Lyra's world because adults have sinned, while children have not. The trilogy is rife with examples of characters attempting to stop dust (sin) from occurring, the Gobblers being the paramount group, but also the Spectres who wish to feed on the adults (hence they feed on sin). One of the most striking lines of The Golden Compass is Lyra's observation that perhaps dust isn't a bad thing (Golden 398). Simply put, her words evoke an intriguing thought that puts all of Judeo-Christian thought on its ear. What if original sin isn't a bad thing? And this forms the crux of the trilogy. Lyra, "destined to bring about the end of destiny" (310), is the NEW Eve. Lyra will be tempted and betray those closest to her, but Lyra will also bring about the "Republic of Heaven."

What is this republic? Pullman, an admitted atheist or agnostic, depending on the interview, " '[... believes] in the absolute preciousness of the here and now. Here is where we are and now is where we live' " (deBertodano 3). Offended by the promise of an afterlife that somehow excuses us from being good people in the present, he is also bothered by the notion of a vengeful god, and even more so by vengeful followers (qtd. in Barger 1). Therefore, he wrote this trilogy, in part, to encourage readers to question the validity of organized religion. Pullman seems to find spirituality more in the connection between human and daemon than between human and creator. Would a child pick up on this complex discussion of philosophy and religion? Perhaps yes, but likely not, yet an adult familiar with the Book of Genesis and with the works of John Milton would find this debate fascinating.

When I teach The Golden Compass, I have my students read Book IX of Paradise Lost, and after reading about Milton's Eve, students contrast her with Lyra, gaining new appreciation for the complexity of Pullman's artful drawing of her character. Lyra is Eve fully realized, on an epic quest to save her loved ones and by extension, humanity. In the end, through her separation from first Pan, then Will, as Adam, she makes the ultimate sacrifice. In any case, it is adult readers who will recognize the underlying myth in the text and see Pullman's fascinating re-creation of Paradise Lost, one which involves daemons and gives new meaning to the words "separation" and "severed" from Milton's epic poem. As Lord Asriel explains to Lyra, Adam and Eve seek to see the true forms of their daemons by eating of the tree of knowledge; therefore, by seeking truth they become betrayers: " 'And that was how sin came into the world' [Lord Asriel] said, 'sin and shame and death. It came the moment their daemons became fixed' " (Golden 372).

Additionally, Pullman also comments on the nature of the creator's "dark materials" through another connection with Paradise Lost. [5] Just as Milton indicates that God provided the first temptation by permitting Adam and Eve to view the one tree from which they cannot eat, Lord Asriel explains to Lyra that the reference to dust in the Bible " '[...] really means that God's admitting his own nature to be partly sinful' " (373). Pullman redefines what it means to "betray." If he establishes an immensely strong connection between Lyra and Pantalaimon, her "all-merciful" soul (Barger 1), and she must break that bond to bring about the end of destiny and to provide humanity with free will, then we see that her act of betrayal is wrought with pain and strife, that she is moved to act for the greater good, not for her own selfish means. Therefore, by personifying the soul as a daemon, Pullman breathes new life and interpretation into an age-old creation myth.

A further discovery for adult readers is analysis of Pullman's invention of relationships that echo the human-daemon nexus. First, Balthamos and Baruch, two angels, experience a feeling very similar to pulling when they must separate in The Amber Spyglass. Their love for one another is genuine and their separation through Baruch's death is a painful moment in the narrative. In fact, the relationship among angels in general is closely aligned with the human/daemon link: "What they shared was a shimmering, darting play of intelligence and feeling that seemed to sweep over them all simultaneously" (Subtle 140). Second, Iorek equates his armor with his soul, having fashioned it himself, and the reader sees that he is only a shell of his former self until Lyra is able to help him retrieve what is rightfully his. He explains, " 'A bear's armor is his soul, just as your daemon is your soul' " (Golden 196-97). Next, Lee Scoresby and Iorek have a history begun long before the trilogy begins, proving the necessity for Iorek to nourish himself with the heart of his preserved yet deceased compatriot in The Amber Spyglass and to avenge his death (Amber 42-43).

Furthermore, the relationships Lyra forms with others during her quest become nearly as intimate as her link with Pan. First, midway through Lyra's journey Lee Scoresby tells Dr. Grumman, " 'I love that little child like a daughter. If I'd had a child of my own, I couldn't love her more. And if you break that oath [to help Lyra], whatever remains of me will pursue whatever remains of you, and you'll spend the rest of eternity wishing you never existed' " (Subtle 299-300). Next, Lyra and Iorek Byrnison have become so close by the end of The Golden Compass that Lyra proclaims her love for him, and he even says " 'Come, little daemon' " (348) to her after he renames her Lyra Silvertongue. Furthermore, by the end of The Subtle Knife Lyra's bond with Will has become so intense that Pullman echoes her relationship with Pan by explaining: "[...] where Will was concerned, she was developing a new kind of sense, as if he were simply more in focus than anyone she'd known before. Everything about him was clear and up close and immediate" (308). Interestingly, this description further mimics her relationship with her alethiometer, an inanimate object that becomes animate as it begins to almost know her true intentions and her moods. Lyra describes: " 'It's almost like talking to someone, only you can't quite hear them, and you feel kind of stupid because they're cleverer than you, only they don't get cross or anything .... And they know such a lot, Farder Coram! As if they knew everything, almost! [....] but this is a different kind of knowing....It's like understanding, I suppose....' " (Golden 150). This illustration of the link with the alethiometer is concurrent with the link between a child and her daemon. It is as if Pullman has written a melody bringing Lyra and Pan's link to life, and throughout his composition, his melody is echoed in different keys, through his depiction of similar associations.

So would Pullman's trilogy attain such universal appeal without the daemon? Can readers even imagine this trilogy, let alone discuss the works, without touching on the daemon's characterization? Possibly not, since by his own admission the images he had in mind weren't gelling until he came up with those magical four words, "Lyra and her daemon." And if what makes a classic is enduring appeal to readers of all ages, then Philip Pullman has certainly succeeded with His Dark Materials . It is a joy to teach Pullman's work in an Adolescent Literature survey course, because it is the type of fiction most students don't "expect", but he succeeds in entrancing them with his lyrical prose. Many students have suggested that his trilogy is the type of literary work that could be taught in almost any literature course (fantasy literature, British literature, contemporary literature to name a few). Some have even asked me to write a special topics course covering Pullman's entire body of work! When I reflect on what we discuss most, though, I am led to the daemons. Daemons are both unique and familiar to readers, and therefore it is their complex characterization that draws both children and adults to the texts.

End Notes

1 Northern Lights is the original title of the first book; The Golden Compass is the US title, and I have used the American editions for my article.

2 Please note that pagination differs in UK and US editions. I have used the newest US Knopf editions of all three books, which restore the original illustrations by Pullman in Books 1 and 2 and the opening quotes from classic literary works at the head of each chapter in Book 3. Until this Knopf edition was published in the US, it can be assumed that US readers for the most part were not familiar with the illustrations or chapter-heading quotes that were part of the original UK publication.

3 In a letter dated 6 July 2003, Pullman did confirm that the painting he spoke of in the Andronik article is Leonardo daVinci's "Lady with an Ermine," located in the Czartoryskich Museum in Krakow, Poland. Pullman explains, "I've never seen it in the flesh, so to speak (or in the oil), only in reproductions". According to, this painting has been in collection of the Czartoryskis' family since the 1800's. One may link to the museum's website to see this inspirational painting: A larger on-line version of the portrait can be viewed at

4 Readers interested in a less-familiar source of Pullman's commentary on the path from innocence to experience may wish to read a work Pullman acknowledges at the conclusion of the trilogy, Heinrich von Kleist's "On the Marionette Theater," translated by Idris Parry. Parry's 1978 translation can be accessed via

5 The various connections, both literal and symbolic, between His Dark Materials and Paradise Lost are too numerous to recount here and deserve their own study. I provide a few major links here to support the adult reader's interest in the trilogy and daemons.


Works Cited

Alderdice, Kit. "PW Talks with Philip Pullman." Publishers Weekly. 25 Sep. 2000: 119.

Andronik, Catherine M. "A Profile: Philip Pullman: His Wonderful Materials." The Book Report. Nov./Dec. 2001: 40-45.

Barger, Jorn. "Philip Pullman Resources on the Web." June 2002. 4 Feb. 2003.

Boehning, Julie C. "Philip Pullman's Paradise." Library Journal. 15 Feb. 1996: 175.

deBertodano, Helena. "I am of the Devil's Party." The Sunday Telegraph. 27 Jan. 2002: 3.

Iyer, Raghavan. "The Daimon." Dec. 1977. 28 Feb. 2003.

Jones, Malcolm. "Pullman's Progress." Newsweek 30 Oct. 2000: 80 (2p).

EBSCOhost. Parker Lib., Wesley College. 3 Sep. 2002.

Maughan, Shannon. "Whose Dark Materials?" Publishers Weekly. 18 Dec. 2000: 25.

Merton, Reginald. "The Nature of the Daimon." Mystics and Seers of All Ages. 28 Feb. 2003.

"Philip Pullman in His Own Words." His Dark Materials. Random House. 2000. 29 Jan. 2003

Pullman, Philip. The Amber Spyglass. New York: Knopf, 2000.

---. The Golden Compass. New York: Knopf, 1995.

---. "The Republic of Heaven." Horn Book Magazine. Nov./Dec. 2001: 655-667.

---. The Subtle Knife. New York: Knopf, 1997.

Romano, Katherine. "Philip Pullman: Exercising Imagination." Teaching K-8. Apr. 2001: 42-44.

Stuttaford, Andrew. "Sunday School for Atheists." National Review. 25 Mar. 2002: 56-58.

Townsend, John Rowe. "Paradise Reshaped." Horn Book Magazine. July/Aug. 2002: 415-21.


Susan R. Bobby

Volume 8, Issue 1 The Looking Glass, January, 2004

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"What Makes a Classic? Daemons and Dual Audience in Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials"
© Susan R. Bobby, 2004

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