Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, here more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from states, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the control of rioters. "An element is at work, silently, very subtly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were stable and strong are faltering and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Her Quest
Precisely what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that drives the concluding book, which resumes where its predecessor concluded. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final foray into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting world he first introduced 30 years ago, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose landscape maps on to that of this world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans look and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, souls in creature form; where the air are filled with witches and mythical beasts, but underneath, vehicles are taken and tea is sipped, and middle-aged academics carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began the series, is now a mature individual: still clearly the sharp and tenacious main character of the previous installments, but more mature, sadder, more careful, less certain. This circumscription is amplified by her split from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to leave in quest of that innocent part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an trait which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and risk on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in action, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the faith's governing authority, and the author's brilliantly sinister embodiment of strict, procedural malice – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's relative, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the role of leader of the Magisterium's governing body, and is determined on using his recently acquired power to extend the religion's dominium. A key character, who rescued infant Lyra to refuge along a overflowing river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a sideline in intelligence work: he is sent to the city to learn more about the antagonist's intentions. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and costly essential oil which manifests mysteriously to be the origin of a social and financial disturbance rippling out from that area. The oil is regarded by some as a tradeable product, by others as a scientific or spiritual phenomenon, and by further factions – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a source of malevolence; an challenge that must be eradicated. The issue of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be removed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the first series, the heroine's actions, and her future, are demonstrated to be inextricably entwined with the fate of the universe
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in tandem. In The Rose Field, they converge. Like the first trilogy, her choices and her destiny are unveiled to be inextricably woven with the fate of the realm. Her private quest to reconnect with her daemon and regain her imagination becomes the central battleground in a larger war with an oppressive government which, as such authorities often attempt, is attempting to quell independence of reason, creativity and culture: all the inner, rebellious ways in which people can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The novel begins with the discovery of a collection of strange openings in the structure of the world's air: gateways that seem to lead to alternate realities. A particular portal appears to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The authority, with Delamare at its helm, classifies these portals as a challenge to the religion's orthodoxy and aims to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to move from rigid reason and revert to instinct, however, her certainty that these sites must be protected – that what they stand for and what they offer is mysteriously vital – increases. "Dust, or the extract, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or whatever we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a poetic conflict between naivety and experience is established.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
