Things are collapsing in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that manifests, here more than ever, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along novel and troubling lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from states, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, silently, very subtly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were stable and strong are deteriorating and giving way."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that propels this final volume, which continues where the previous book ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's last excursion into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting universe he first introduced three decades past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a world whose geography maps on to that of our world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, essences in creature form; where the skies are filled with witches and gryphons, but beneath those skies, transports are caught and tea is drunk, and middle-aged academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the first volume, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still recognisably the spiky and persistent main character of the earlier books, but aged, more sorrowful, more cautious, less certain. This limitation is intensified by her division from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to go off in pursuit of that youthful part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an quality which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which chronicled Lyra undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with marvel and risk on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in action, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the church's governing authority, and the author's deliciously chilling incarnation of austere, bureaucratic malice – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the role of president of the authority's High Council, and is set on using his newfound influence to broaden the religion's dominium. A key character, who saved young the heroine to security along a overflowing Thames as an child in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is dispatched to the city to learn more about his intentions. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and precious botanical extract which seems in some way to be the cause of a societal and financial upheaval emanating out from that area. The oil is viewed by various factions as a commercial product, by alternate groups as a research-based or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of darkness; an insult that must be eradicated. The question of its origins, its meaning, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the first series, Lyra's decisions, and her future, are shown to be deeply linked with the future of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran largely in tandem. In The Rose Field, they converge. Similar to the original series, Lyra's actions and her path are revealed to be deeply woven with the destiny of the universe. Her personal quest to rejoin with her soul and regain her imagination becomes the central conflict in a broader war with an authoritarian regime which, as such authorities always have, is attempting to suppress autonomy of thought, creativity and expression: all the internal, defiant ways in which people can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The book opens with the unveiling of a collection of unusual fissures in the makeup of the planet's air: portals that look to open into other worlds. One such window manifests to be the origin of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The church, with the antagonist at its leadership, labels these openings as a threat to the church's beliefs and sets out to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from rigid reason and revert to instinct, yet, her belief that these locations must be preserved – that their significance and what they offer is in some way vital – strengthens. "The substance, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a Blakean conflict between innocence and knowledge is set.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
