Things are unraveling in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a universe that appears, now more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from governments, and pooling in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of business empires, the grasp of crowds. "An element is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and solid are deteriorating and failing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that animates The Rose Field, which picks up where the previous book ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's concluding venture into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating realm he first introduced in the distant past, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose geography corresponds to that of this world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans look and think and act like us, but are paired by daemons, souls in animal form; where the air are teeming with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but below, vehicles are caught and tea is consumed, and older scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still distinctly the spiky and tenacious main character of the prior volumes, but aged, more sorrowful, more careful, less sure. This circumscription is intensified by her division from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to leave in quest of that youthful part of her which she may have forgotten (an quality which he represents as her "imagination"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with marvel and risk on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in play, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's deliciously chilling representation of austere, administrative malice – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's family member, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of leader of the authority's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his newfound authority to expand the religion's control. Another protagonist, who rescued baby Lyra to refuge along a flooded river as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is assigned to a key location to learn more about his intentions. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and precious rose oil which manifests mysteriously to be the cause of a social and financial crisis spreading out from that area. The substance is viewed by some as a marketable good, by others as a empirical or spiritual wonder, and by others still – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The issue of its origins, what it stands for, and whether it should be eliminated or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the first series, the heroine's actions, and her future, are revealed to be deeply entwined with the fate of the world
In the previous volume, these storylines ran mostly in parallel. In the conclusion, they converge. Like the original series, Lyra's movements and her path are revealed to be deeply entwined with the fate of the world. Her private mission to reunite with her soul and rediscover her creativity becomes the key battleground in a wider war with an authoritarian government which, as these systems often attempt, is striving to stifle freedom of reason, innovation and art: all the personal, defiant ways in which people can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The novel starts with the discovery of a set of curious fissures in the makeup of the Earth's sky: windows that look to lead to different dimensions. An example of a opening seems to be the point of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The authority, with the antagonist at its leadership, designates these windows as a problem to the institution's orthodoxy and sets out to destroy them. As Lyra begins to move from rigid rationalism and revert to instinct, however, her conviction that these locations must be defended – that their meaning and what they provide is somehow vital – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or whatever we label it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a poetic struggle between naivety and experience is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
