Things are collapsing in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that manifests, in this volume especially, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from states, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the control of mobs. "Something is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says trader a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and durable are weakening and failing."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Just what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that drives The Rose Field, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's last excursion into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting universe he first introduced in the distant past, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose geography maps on to that of the real world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the people appear and think and act like us, but are joined by animal souls, souls in creature form; where the heavens are teeming with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, transports are taken and drinks is sipped, and middle-aged academics carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which Pullman began the series, is now a young woman: still distinctly the spiky and persistent protagonist of the earlier books, but more mature, sadder, warier, less certain. This limitation is intensified by her division from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to leave in search of that childlike part of her which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with amazement and peril on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in play, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the religious ruling body, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of austere, procedural evil – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – Lyra's relative, who faults her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of president of the authority's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his newfound authority to broaden the institution's rule. Another protagonist, who saved young the heroine to security along a overflowing Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in spycraft: he is sent to a key location to learn more about his plans. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and costly botanical extract which manifests somehow to be the origin of a societal and financial crisis rippling out from the region. The substance is regarded by some as a tradeable good, by different parties as a research-based or esoteric miracle, and by others still – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an challenge that must be eradicated. The question of its origins, its meaning, and whether it should be removed or preserved is becoming urgent.
As in His Dark Materials, Lyra's deeds, and her future, are shown to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the realm
In its predecessor, these narratives ran largely in parallel. In this final book, they converge. As in the first trilogy, her movements and her destiny are shown to be inseparably woven with the destiny of the universe. Her personal journey to rejoin with her daemon and recover her vision becomes the central struggle in a larger war with an oppressive system which, as these systems always have, is attempting to suppress independence of thinking, creativity and culture: all the inner, defiant ways in which individuals can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The story begins with the discovery of a collection of unusual cracks in the fabric of the Earth's air: portals that seem to give on to other worlds. A particular window appears to be the source of the highly contested rose oil. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its head, labels these windows as a problem to the institution's beliefs and aims to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to move from rigid reason and revert to intuition, yet, her certainty that these places must be preserved – that their significance and what they provide is in some way vital – grows. "The substance, or the extract, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a Blakean tussle between naivety and experience is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
