Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that appears, here more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or restructuring themselves along new and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from states, and gathering in the offices of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the grasp of crowds. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were stable and durable are weakening and giving way."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Just what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that animates The Rose Field, which continues where its predecessor ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's last foray into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating realm he first introduced in the distant past, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a world whose landscape maps on to that of this world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the people appear and think and act like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, essences in animal form; where the skies are teeming with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, transports are caught and drinks is drunk, and older professors carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still clearly the prickly and persistent protagonist of the earlier books, but more mature, melancholic, more cautious, more doubtful. This circumscription is intensified by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to leave in search of that innocent part of her which she may have forgotten (an trait which he represents as her "imagination"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a picaresque voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with wonder and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in play, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the faith's governing authority, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of austere, procedural malice – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. The antagonist – the heroine's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the position of leader of the authority's High Council, and is determined on using his recently acquired authority to broaden the institution's control. A key character, who saved young Lyra to safety along a flooded Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a sideline in espionage: he is sent to the city to learn more about Delamare's plans. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and valuable botanical extract which manifests in some way to be the source of a social and economic crisis emanating out from Central Asia. The oil is regarded by some as a tradeable commodity, by alternate groups as a empirical or esoteric miracle, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a source of darkness; an insult that must be eradicated. The question of its origins, its significance, and if it should be removed or preserved is escalating in importance.
Like the first series, the heroine's decisions, and her future, are demonstrated to be deeply connected with the destiny of the world
In the previous volume, these storylines ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they merge. Like the original series, the protagonist's movements and her path are revealed to be inextricably linked with the fate of the world. Her individual quest to rejoin with her soul and recover her imagination becomes the primary conflict in a larger war with an authoritarian regime which, as such authorities always have, is striving to quell autonomy of thinking, innovation and culture: all the personal, resistant ways in which people can be free.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The book opens with the unveiling of a series of unusual cracks in the fabric of the planet's atmosphere: gateways that appear to give on to other worlds. One such portal manifests to be the origin of the much debated mystical extract. The Magisterium, with its leader at its helm, designates these windows as a problem to the religion's doctrine and endeavors to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from rigid rationalism and revert to feeling, nevertheless, her certainty that these locations must be defended – that their significance and their value is in some way crucial – strengthens. "The substance, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a philosophical conflict between purity and maturity is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
