Preemptive penance and absolution were doctrines researched and developed by the Consistorial Court, but not known to the wider Church. They involved doing penance for a sin not yet committed, intense and fervent penance accompanied by scourging and flagellation, so as to build up, as it were, a store of credit. When the penance had reached the appropriate level for a particular sin, the penitent was granted absolution in advance ... It was sometimes necessary to kill people, for example; and it was so much less troubling for the assassin if he could do so in a state of grace.

By the time Pullman reached "The Amber Spyglass," he seems to have run out of steam on the doohickey front. The title object, a device for seeing Dust -- the elementary particles of consciousness, golden specks that adhere to anything touched by a conscious being and are themselves conscious -- plays only a very minor role in the plot. However, Pullman has mustered a spectacular array of forces in a three-sided battle for control over the universe of universes.

Authors of fantasy -- children's books in particular -- frequently raid the religious myths of other cultures to supply their stories with depth and power: think of J.R.R. Tolkien and Norse myths, or Susan Cooper and religions of ancient Britain. Some borrow respectfully from their own sacred traditions -- C.S. Lewis, for example, turned Jesus into a lion in the "Narnia" books. But Pullman takes a page from Blake, stealing characters out of the Judeo-Christian tradition, then switching the meaning of the roles. Like the gnostics, he raises hidden possibilities in the familiar story. Is God really the creator? Is the creator good or evil? Did the rebellious angels perhaps have a point, as America's own Founding Fathers? Complex celestial politics, in which from time to time heroes betray their friends and villains save the day, add a frisson of heresy to the usual battle of dark and light.

In Pullman's world, angels are long-lived and bodiless, but not necessarily immortal. As Lyra's father, a powerful and ambiguous figure, explains it to a henchman, "Few as we are, and short-lived as we are, and weak-sighted as we are -- in comparison with them, we're still stronger. They envy us, Ogunwe! That's what fuels their hatred, I'm sure of it. They long to have our precious bodies, so solid and powerful, so well-adapted to the good earth! And if we drive at them with force and determination, we can sweep aside those infinite numbers as you can sweep your hand through mist. They have no more power than that!" This weakness of angels can be comical, as when Will bosses around an enormously old and wise pair, or profoundly sad.

Lyra and Will's adventures include a trip to the Underworld, complete with the ferryman of the dead and harpies guarding the gates. There Lyra meets her own personal death, and the children harrow hell, releasing the spirits. But ultimately, to save the world and establish the Republic of Heaven, they must make the ultimate sacrifice.

That's where I felt a bit of disappointment sneak in. To make all the equations work out, Pullman has to introduce sexuality in characters that I felt were still too childlike for it to be convincing. He shuts doors and ties up loose ends in a way that feels, for the first time, slightly artificial. Still, that's a very minor flaw in what stands with "The Lord of the Rings" as one of the most resonant fantasies of our time.

Maya Angelou reads from "The Heart of a Woman"