Things are unraveling in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that appears, here more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from authorities, and pooling in the offices of theocrats, the vaults of corporations, the hands of rioters. "An element is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and strong are faltering and collapsing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Just what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that animates The Rose Field, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, by all accounts, the author's final foray into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting universe he first introduced 30 years ago, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a world whose geography maps on to that of this world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the people appear and reason and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, souls in animal form; where the air are populated with witches and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, transports are ridden and beverages is sipped, and middle-aged academics carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the first volume, the origin story with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still recognisably the prickly and tenacious protagonist of the earlier books, but aged, melancholic, more careful, less certain. This circumscription is heightened by her separation from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to depart in quest of that childlike part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an quality which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and peril on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the religious governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of austere, administrative evil – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – our protagonist's relative, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of president of the Magisterium's governing body, and is determined on using his fresh authority to extend the religion's control. Another protagonist, who carried young Lyra to refuge along a swollen Thames as an child in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is assigned to a key location to discover more about his aims. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and valuable essential oil which seems mysteriously to be the source of a social and economic disturbance emanating out from Central Asia. The substance is viewed by certain groups as a commercial product, by others as a scientific or esoteric wonder, and by further factions – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of malevolence; an challenge that must be obliterated. The issue of its source, its meaning, and if it should be destroyed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the original trilogy, our protagonist's actions, and her destiny, are revealed to be inextricably connected with the fate of the world
In the previous volume, these plots ran mostly in side by side. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the original series, Lyra's actions and her destiny are shown to be inseparably entwined with the fate of the universe. Her individual quest to reconnect with her soul and regain her imagination becomes the central struggle in a wider battle with an oppressive system which, as such regimes often attempt, is attempting to stifle independence of thought, creativity and culture: all the inner, resistant ways in which humans can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The story starts with the unveiling of a series of curious openings in the structure of the world's sky: windows that seem to lead to alternate realities. An example of a opening seems to be the source of the much debated mystical extract. The Magisterium, with its leader at its head, designates these windows as a problem to the institution's doctrine and endeavors to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from strict logic and back to instinct, yet, her belief that these locations must be preserved – that what they stand for and what they offer is somehow vital – increases. "The substance, or the substance, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a philosophical tussle between purity and experience is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
