Things are falling apart in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that manifests, here more than ever, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from states, and gathering in the offices of religious leaders, the coffers of corporations, the hands of mobs. "An element is at work, very quietly, gradually", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were secure and durable are weakening and failing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that drives this final volume, which resumes where the previous book concluded. This is, according to many, the author's last venture into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling world he first introduced 30 years ago, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose geography aligns with that of this world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the individuals look and think and behave like us, but are paired by animal souls, souls in beast form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, transports are taken and tea is drunk, and middle-aged academics carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still clearly the sharp and persistent main character of the previous installments, but older, melancholic, more careful, less sure. This circumscription is heightened by her split from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to go off in quest of that childlike part of her which she may have forgotten (an trait which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw Lyra undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with marvel and peril on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's ruling body, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of strict, administrative evil – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. The antagonist – our protagonist's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of head of the authority's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his recently acquired power to extend the institution's rule. A key character, who saved young Lyra to safety along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in espionage: he is dispatched to a key location to find out more about the antagonist's aims. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and valuable essential oil which appears in some way to be the cause of a societal and financial disturbance rippling out from that area. The oil is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable good, by different parties as a research-based or spiritual wonder, and by yet others – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a source of darkness; an insult that must be destroyed. The question of where it comes from, its significance, and if it should be removed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in His Dark Materials, our protagonist's actions, and her fate, are shown to be deeply connected with the fate of the universe
In its predecessor, these storylines ran mostly in tandem. In The Rose Field, they come together. Similar to the first trilogy, the protagonist's choices and her path are shown to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the world. Her personal quest to reconnect with her companion and regain her vision becomes the key conflict in a larger war with an oppressive regime which, as such regimes always have, is attempting to quell independence of reason, creativity and culture: all the internal, resistant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The book opens with the unveiling of a set of curious cracks in the makeup of the planet's atmosphere: gateways that appear to lead to other worlds. A particular window appears to be the origin of the much debated rose oil. The Magisterium, with its leader at its helm, designates these portals as a problem to the church's doctrine and aims to destroy them. As the heroine begins to shift from rigid rationalism and return to instinct, nevertheless, her belief that these locations must be defended – that their meaning and what they offer is somehow crucial – grows. "Dust, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a philosophical struggle between purity and experience is set.
Story Tempo and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
