Things are unraveling in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's grand trilogies set in a realm that seems, here more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along novel and troubling lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from states, and gathering in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of corporations, the hands of crowds. "Some force is at work, stealthily, gradually", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and solid are deteriorating and failing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels the concluding book, which resumes where its predecessor left off. This is, according to many, the author's last venture into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting realm he first revealed in the distant past, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose terrain maps on to that of the real world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the people appear and think and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, beings in beast form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but below, transports are ridden and beverages is drunk, and middle-aged academics carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still recognisably the prickly and persistent heroine of the earlier books, but older, melancholic, more careful, less sure. This restraint is amplified by her split from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to go off in search of that youthful part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which followed Lyra undertake a adventurous journey across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and peril on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the church's controlling power, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of austere, bureaucratic evil – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – the heroine's uncle, who blames her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of president of the church's ruling assembly, and is set on using his newfound authority to expand the religion's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who saved baby the heroine to security along a flooded Thames as an child in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a secondary role in espionage: he is assigned to a key location to learn more about Delamare's aims. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and precious essential oil which seems somehow to be the cause of a social and financial disturbance spreading out from that area. The oil is viewed by various factions as a tradeable product, by others as a research-based or spiritual wonder, and by further factions – the zealous "highland figures" – as a origin of malevolence; an affront that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its origins, its significance, and if it should be removed or preserved is becoming urgent.
Like His Dark Materials, Lyra's actions, and her future, are revealed to be inextricably connected with the destiny of the universe
In its predecessor, these storylines ran largely in tandem. In The Rose Field, they come together. As in the first trilogy, the protagonist's actions and her destiny are unveiled to be deeply linked with the future of the universe. Her individual quest to rejoin with her companion and rediscover her imagination becomes the key struggle in a broader battle with an controlling system which, as such regimes often attempt, is attempting to suppress autonomy of thinking, innovation and expression: all the internal, defiant ways in which individuals can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The book begins with the discovery of a collection of strange fissures in the fabric of the Earth's atmosphere: gateways that look to open into other worlds. One such portal manifests to be the source of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its head, labels these windows as a threat to the religion's orthodoxy and endeavors to eliminate them. As the heroine begins to move from inflexible rationalism and revert to instinct, nevertheless, her conviction that these sites must be defended – that what they stand for and what they provide is in some way crucial – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean tussle between innocence and knowledge is established.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
