Things are falling apart in the final volume 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 charged and tilted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or restructuring themselves along new and troubling lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from authorities, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the vaults of conglomerates, the control of crowds. "An element is at work, stealthily, gradually", says trader a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were firm and durable are deteriorating and giving way."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that propels this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor left off. This is, reportedly, the author's last venture into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting realm he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose terrain maps on to that of our world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, souls in animal form; where the skies are populated with witches and mythical beasts, but below, vehicles are ridden and drinks is consumed, and older scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the prickly and persistent main character of the previous installments, but older, more sorrowful, warier, more doubtful. This restraint is intensified by her split from her soul companion, 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 Lyra which she may have forgotten (an quality which he represents as her "imagination"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with marvel and danger on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in motion, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's deliciously chilling representation of rigid, procedural evil – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's uncle, who faults her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the role of head of the Magisterium's governing body, and is set on using his newfound authority to expand the institution's control. Malcolm Polstead, who saved young the heroine to security along a flooded Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in espionage: he is assigned to a key location to learn more about his aims. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and precious essential oil which appears somehow to be the source of a social and financial upheaval rippling out from Central Asia. The oil is seen by certain groups as a tradeable product, by alternate groups as a scientific or spiritual phenomenon, and by others still – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a origin of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The question of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be removed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Similar to the first series, the heroine's actions, and her destiny, are shown to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the world
In the previous volume, these storylines ran broadly in parallel. In The Rose Field, they come together. As in His Dark Materials, the protagonist's choices and her path are revealed to be inseparably woven with the future of the realm. Her personal quest to reconnect with her companion and rediscover her creativity becomes the key conflict in a larger battle with an oppressive system which, as such regimes always have, is attempting to quell autonomy of reason, creativity and culture: all the personal, defiant ways in which people can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The story opens with the discovery of a series of curious cracks in the structure of the planet's atmosphere: gateways that appear to open into alternate realities. A particular opening seems to be the source of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The authority, with the antagonist at its head, designates these portals as a challenge to the institution's doctrine and endeavors to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to shift from inflexible logic and back to instinct, yet, her certainty that these places must be protected – that their meaning and what they provide is in some way essential – grows. "Dust, or the extract, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or whatever we name it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a philosophical conflict between innocence and experience is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
