Things are unraveling in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that manifests, in this volume especially, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Institutions are failing, or restructuring themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from authorities, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the control of rioters. "Some force is at work, silently, gradually", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and durable are weakening and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that propels this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor concluded. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's last venture into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating universe he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a world whose terrain aligns with that of our world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans appear and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, beings in creature form; where the air are filled with enchantresses and gryphons, but underneath, buses are ridden and drinks is consumed, and mature academics carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the prickly and tenacious heroine of the previous installments, but older, more sorrowful, more careful, more doubtful. This circumscription is amplified by her split from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
The daemon's resolve to leave in search of that childlike part of her which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he represents as her "creativity"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with wonder and risk on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in action, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the faith's ruling body, and the author's brilliantly sinister incarnation of austere, bureaucratic malice – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of leader of the church's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his newfound authority to extend the institution's control. A key character, who carried infant the heroine to security along a swollen Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an academic with a secondary role in espionage: he is sent to a key location to find out more about Delamare's intentions. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and costly botanical extract which seems in some way to be the origin of a societal and economic upheaval emanating out from that area. The oil is seen by certain groups as a marketable good, by alternate groups as a research-based or esoteric miracle, and by yet others – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a source of darkness; an affront that must be destroyed. The question of where it comes from, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the first series, Lyra's actions, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran broadly in parallel. In The Rose Field, they converge. As in the first trilogy, the protagonist's movements and her path are unveiled to be deeply linked with the fate of the universe. Her personal mission to rejoin with her companion and regain her vision becomes the key conflict in a larger war with an controlling government which, as these systems often attempt, is attempting to stifle independence of reason, creativity and expression: all the personal, defiant ways in which humans can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The novel begins with the unveiling of a series of strange fissures in the makeup of the world's atmosphere: gateways that look to lead to other worlds. One such window seems to be the source of the much debated botanical substance. The authority, with Delamare at its leadership, labels these windows as a problem to the institution's doctrine and endeavors to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to shift from rigid rationalism and revert to instinct, yet, her certainty that these locations must be preserved – that what they stand for and their value is in some way vital – increases. "Dust, or the substance, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a poetic struggle between innocence and maturity is established.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
