Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a realm that manifests, here more than ever, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Organizations are failing, or reorganizing themselves along new and troubling 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 shifting from governments, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the control of mobs. "Some force is at work, silently, very subtly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and durable are faltering and failing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that drives this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor concluded. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's last foray into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating world he first revealed three decades past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a world whose landscape aligns with that of this world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the people look and reason and behave like us, but are paired by daemons, souls in beast form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but below, transports are ridden and beverages is sipped, and older scholars carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the sharp and persistent heroine of the earlier books, but more mature, melancholic, more careful, more doubtful. This circumscription is intensified by her division from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that innocent 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 prior book, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across the continent and into the mountain region, facing 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 religious controlling power, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of austere, bureaucratic wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's relative, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the role of president of the church's High Council, and is determined on using his newfound influence to broaden the church's rule. Another protagonist, who carried infant Lyra to safety along a overflowing Thames as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a sideline in spycraft: he is sent to a key location to learn more about the antagonist's intentions. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and precious essential oil which appears somehow to be the source of a social and economic disturbance emanating out from Central Asia. The substance is viewed by various factions as a commercial commodity, by others as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a source of malevolence; an insult that must be destroyed. The question of where it comes from, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
As in the original trilogy, our protagonist's actions, and her destiny, are revealed to be inextricably linked with the fate of the universe
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in side by side. In The Rose Field, they come together. Like the first trilogy, her choices and her destiny are revealed to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the world. Her private journey to reunite with her companion and rediscover her vision becomes the key conflict in a wider battle with an oppressive government which, as such regimes typically do, is striving to suppress independence of thinking, creativity and culture: all the inner, rebellious ways in which individuals can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The book begins with the unveiling of a collection of curious fissures in the structure of the world's sky: windows that look to give on to different dimensions. A particular opening appears to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The Magisterium, with its leader at its head, classifies these portals as a problem to the institution's beliefs and aims to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from strict rationalism and back to feeling, nevertheless, her belief that these places must be defended – that what they stand for and what they offer is in some way vital – increases. "Dust, or rose oil, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or whatever we name it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a philosophical conflict between purity and experience is set.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
