Things are collapsing in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a world that appears, here more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Organizations are failing, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from states, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of business empires, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his place in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and strong are deteriorating and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's last foray into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling realm he first unveiled in the distant past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a world whose terrain maps on to that of our world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the humans look and reason and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, souls in creature form; where the heavens are populated with witches and gryphons, but below, buses are ridden and drinks is consumed, and older academics carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still recognisably the spiky and determined protagonist of the prior volumes, but older, sadder, more cautious, more doubtful. This restraint is heightened by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
The daemon's resolve to leave in pursuit of that childlike part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an trait which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with marvel and peril on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of austere, bureaucratic evil – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's uncle, who faults her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of head of the church's High Council, and is set on using his recently acquired influence to extend the institution's rule. A key character, who rescued young the heroine to refuge along a overflowing river as an child in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in espionage: he is dispatched to a key location to discover more about his intentions. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and valuable rose oil which seems mysteriously to be the cause of a social and economic disturbance emanating out from that area. The oil is viewed by some as a marketable good, by others as a research-based or esoteric wonder, and by further factions – the zealous "highland figures" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an insult that must be eradicated. The issue of its source, its meaning, and if it should be removed or preserved is becoming urgent.
Like the first series, the heroine's actions, and her future, are revealed to be inseparably connected with the future of the realm
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in tandem. In The Rose Field, they converge. Like the original series, her movements and her destiny are unveiled to be inextricably linked with the future of the universe. Her private mission to reconnect with her daemon and regain her creativity becomes the central battleground in a broader battle with an oppressive regime which, as such authorities typically do, is seeking to quell autonomy of thought, creativity and art: all the personal, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The book starts with the discovery of a collection of curious openings in the fabric of the Earth's sky: windows that look to give on to different dimensions. One such portal manifests to be the point of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The authority, with its leader at its helm, labels these portals as a threat to the institution's doctrine and sets out to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from rigid reason and back to intuition, yet, her belief that these locations must be defended – that what they stand for and what they offer is mysteriously crucial – increases. "The substance, or the substance, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a Blakean conflict between purity and maturity is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
