Things are unraveling in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's grand trilogies set in a universe that manifests, now more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Organizations are failing, or reassembling themselves along novel and troubling lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from governments, and accumulating in the offices of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the hands of crowds. "Some force is at work, silently, very subtly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an city cafe. "Things we thought were secure and solid are deteriorating and giving way."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Precisely what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that propels The Rose Field, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, according to many, Pullman's last venture into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting world he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose geography maps on to that of this world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and reason and behave like us, but are joined by animal souls, souls in beast form; where the heavens are teeming with sorceresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, transports are ridden and beverages is sipped, and middle-aged academics carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the prequel, the origin story with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still distinctly the prickly and persistent heroine of the earlier books, but older, sadder, more cautious, less certain. This limitation is intensified by her division from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to go off in quest of that childlike part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an quality which he represents as her "vision"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a picaresque voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with wonder and risk on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in play, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the church's ruling body, and Pullman's deliciously chilling representation of austere, bureaucratic malice – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. The antagonist – Lyra's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the office of head of the authority's ruling assembly, and is set on using his fresh power to extend the institution's control. Another protagonist, who carried infant Lyra to security along a overflowing river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a secondary role in spycraft: he is assigned to Geneva to learn more about Delamare's plans. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and precious rose oil which manifests mysteriously to be the origin of a societal and financial crisis spreading out from that area. The extract is seen by various factions as a tradeable product, by alternate groups as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by further factions – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its origins, its meaning, and whether it should be eliminated or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Similar to the original trilogy, the heroine's decisions, and her destiny, are revealed to be inseparably connected with the destiny of the universe
In the previous volume, these plots ran broadly in tandem. In this final book, they merge. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's movements and her destiny are shown to be deeply woven with the fate of the world. Her private journey to reunite with her soul and regain her imagination becomes the key struggle in a broader war with an oppressive system which, as such authorities often attempt, is attempting to quell independence of reason, innovation and art: all the internal, rebellious ways in which humans can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The novel opens with the unveiling of a series of unusual fissures in the structure of the planet's atmosphere: windows that appear to give on to alternate realities. One such opening appears to be the source of the highly contested mystical extract. The Magisterium, with its leader at its head, labels these windows as a challenge to the religion's doctrine and aims to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to shift from rigid reason and revert to instinct, however, her certainty that these places must be preserved – that what they stand for and their value is mysteriously vital – grows. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean conflict between naivety and experience is established.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
