Things are falling apart in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, in this volume especially, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or reassembling themselves along new and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from states, and gathering in the chambers of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the hands of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, gradually", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and solid are faltering and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that drives The Rose Field, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final excursion into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling universe he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose landscape maps on to that of this world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and think and act like us, but are paired by daemons, souls in beast form; where the skies are filled with enchantresses and gryphons, but underneath, transports are caught and beverages is consumed, and middle-aged scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the prequel, the origin story with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still clearly the sharp and determined protagonist of the earlier books, but older, sadder, more cautious, less sure. This restraint is heightened by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to leave in quest of that youthful part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed the protagonist undertake a picaresque trek across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and danger on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the faith's controlling power, and the author's masterfully eerie embodiment of austere, bureaucratic malice – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of head of the church's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his newfound authority to extend the religion's control. Another protagonist, who carried young Lyra to safety along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is sent to the city to find out more about his plans. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and precious botanical extract which appears in some way to be the source of a social and financial crisis rippling out from that area. The substance is viewed by some as a commercial product, by others as a research-based or spiritual miracle, and by further factions – the zealous "highland figures" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be eradicated. The question of its source, its meaning, and whether it should be eliminated or protected is becoming urgent.
Similar to the first series, the heroine's decisions, and her future, are shown to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the world
In its predecessor, these narratives ran largely in side by side. In this final book, they merge. Like His Dark Materials, Lyra's movements and her destiny are shown to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the universe. Her individual mission to reunite with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the primary struggle in a wider conflict with an oppressive regime which, as such authorities always have, is attempting to quell freedom of thought, originality and expression: all the inner, resistant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The book starts with the finding of a series of curious fissures in the fabric of the planet's air: windows that appear to give on to other worlds. An example of a opening seems to be the point of the much debated botanical substance. The authority, with the antagonist at its leadership, designates these portals as a threat to the church's orthodoxy and aims to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from rigid rationalism and back to feeling, nevertheless, her conviction that these sites must be preserved – that what they stand for and what they provide is somehow vital – grows. "Dust, or the substance, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a Blakean struggle between naivety and experience is prepared.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
