Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that manifests, in this volume especially, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reassembling themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from authorities, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the vaults of corporations, the grasp of crowds. "An element is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and strong are deteriorating and collapsing."
Key Puzzle and Her Quest
Precisely what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that animates The Rose Field, which resumes where the previous book ended. This is, by all accounts, the author's final foray into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling realm he first unveiled in the distant past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose terrain maps on to that of the real world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and think and act like us, but are paired by daemons, souls in animal form; where the air are filled with witches and gryphons, but below, buses are caught and drinks is sipped, and mature scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a child in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still clearly the spiky and determined protagonist of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, more careful, less certain. This limitation is amplified by her division from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in search of that youthful part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an quality which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed Lyra undertake a adventurous journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with amazement and risk on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the religious ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie incarnation of austere, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – Lyra's uncle, who blames her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the role of head of the Magisterium's governing body, and is intent on using his newfound influence to expand the church's control. A key character, who rescued young Lyra to security along a overflowing river as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in espionage: he is sent to Geneva to learn more about Delamare's plans. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and precious rose oil which manifests mysteriously to be the source of a social and financial disturbance rippling out from Central Asia. The extract is regarded by some as a tradeable product, by alternate groups as a research-based or mystical miracle, and by yet others – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be obliterated. The issue of its source, its significance, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the first series, the heroine's deeds, and her future, are shown to be inseparably linked with the future of the realm
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in side by side. In the conclusion, they converge. As in the original series, the protagonist's actions and her fate are shown to be deeply entwined with the future of the universe. Her individual journey to rejoin with her companion and rediscover her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a broader war with an controlling government which, as these systems always have, is seeking to suppress independence of thinking, innovation and art: all the internal, rebellious ways in which humans can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The book starts with the unveiling of a set of curious cracks in the structure of the Earth's air: portals that appear to open into other worlds. An example of a window appears to be the point of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The authority, with its leader at its helm, labels these portals as a challenge to the church's orthodoxy and endeavors to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to move from inflexible rationalism and return to feeling, nevertheless, her certainty that these sites must be protected – that their significance and what they offer is somehow vital – strengthens. "The substance, or the substance, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a Blakean conflict between purity and knowledge is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the