Tings are unraveling in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a world that appears, in this volume especially, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reassembling themselves along novel and troubling lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is draining from governments, and gathering in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the control of rioters. "Some force is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his place in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and durable are weakening and collapsing."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Just what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that drives this final volume, which continues where its predecessor ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's last foray into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling realm he first unveiled in the distant past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of this world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the individuals appear and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, essences in animal form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, vehicles are ridden and drinks is drunk, and mature scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in the first volume, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a adult: still distinctly the prickly and persistent heroine of the earlier books, but older, melancholic, more careful, less sure. This restraint is amplified by her division from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to depart in search of that childlike part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an trait which he represents as her "vision"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and risk on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the church's controlling power, and the author's deliciously chilling representation of rigid, administrative evil – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's uncle, who blames her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of president of the Magisterium's governing body, and is intent on using his newfound influence to extend the church's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued infant the heroine to refuge along a swollen river as an child in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in intelligence work: he is assigned to Geneva to learn more about the antagonist's intentions. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and precious rose oil which manifests somehow to be the source of a social and economic upheaval spreading out from the region. The substance is regarded by some as a tradeable commodity, by alternate groups as a research-based or esoteric miracle, and by further factions – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a wellspring of evil; an affront that must be eradicated. The question of its source, what it stands for, and whether it should be eliminated or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the first series, Lyra's decisions, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be deeply linked with the destiny of the world
In its predecessor, these storylines ran mostly in parallel. In The Rose Field, they converge. Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's movements and her fate are unveiled to be inseparably entwined with the future of the world. Her personal journey to reunite with her daemon and recover her creativity becomes the central battleground in a broader war with an oppressive government which, as such authorities always have, is striving to suppress autonomy of thinking, originality and culture: all the personal, defiant ways in which people can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The novel opens with the discovery of a collection of curious fissures in the structure of the planet's sky: portals that look to give on to different dimensions. One such portal appears to be the source of the much debated mystical extract. The authority, with its leader at its head, classifies these portals as a threat to the church's doctrine and sets out to destroy them. As Lyra begins to turn away from strict reason and return to feeling, nevertheless, her certainty that these sites must be defended – that what they stand for and their value is mysteriously essential – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a poetic conflict between innocence and maturity is established.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
