Tings are collapsing in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that seems, here more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Organizations are failing, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from states, and pooling in the offices of theocrats, the coffers of business empires, the hands of mobs. "Something is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and strong are deteriorating and collapsing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Just what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that animates The Rose Field, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, reportedly, the author's last foray into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting universe he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose landscape aligns with that of our world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the individuals look and think and behave like us, but are paired by animal souls, essences in beast form; where the heavens are populated with witches and gryphons, but underneath, buses are taken and drinks is sipped, and middle-aged scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still clearly the prickly and persistent main character of the earlier books, but older, sadder, more careful, less sure. This restraint is heightened by her division from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to leave in search of that innocent part of her which she appears to have shed (an quality which he represents as her "creativity"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which followed Lyra undertake a picaresque trek across the continent and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie embodiment of rigid, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's uncle, who blames her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of leader of the church's governing body, and is determined on using his fresh authority to expand the institution's dominium. Another protagonist, who saved baby Lyra to refuge along a overflowing Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a sideline in espionage: he is assigned to Geneva to learn more about Delamare's plans. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and costly rose oil which manifests mysteriously to be the source of a social and economic crisis rippling out from the region. The oil is regarded by various factions as a commercial good, by others as a empirical or esoteric phenomenon, and by yet others – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of malevolence; an insult that must be destroyed. The question of its origins, its meaning, and whether it should be eliminated or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Similar to the original trilogy, our protagonist's actions, and her future, are shown to be deeply entwined with the fate of the realm
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in tandem. In the conclusion, they converge. As in the original series, Lyra's actions and her destiny are shown to be deeply entwined with the future of the universe. Her personal journey to reunite with her soul and recover her imagination becomes the central conflict in a wider battle with an oppressive regime which, as such authorities typically do, is striving to quell freedom of thinking, innovation and art: all the inner, rebellious ways in which individuals can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The book starts with the finding of a set of curious cracks in the structure of the Earth's sky: gateways that look to lead to different dimensions. An example of a window manifests to be the point of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The authority, with its leader at its head, classifies these windows as a challenge to the church's doctrine and endeavors to eliminate them. As the heroine begins to turn away from rigid logic and revert to instinct, yet, her conviction that these places must be protected – that their significance and what they offer is somehow crucial – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or whatever we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a philosophical conflict between purity and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
