Tings are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that seems, now more than ever, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from governments, and pooling in the offices of theocrats, the coffers of conglomerates, the control of crowds. "Some force is at work, silently, gradually", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and durable are deteriorating and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Her Quest
Precisely what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that drives The Rose Field, which picks up where its predecessor concluded. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final foray into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating world he first unveiled three decades past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose terrain corresponds to that of the real world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the individuals look and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, souls in beast form; where the skies are teeming with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, buses are taken and drinks is sipped, and older scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still distinctly the sharp and persistent protagonist of the earlier books, but more mature, more sorrowful, more careful, less certain. This circumscription is heightened by her split from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
His choice to depart in search of that youthful part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an quality which he represents as her "vision"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a wandering voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with wonder and risk on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in play, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the faith's ruling body, and the author's brilliantly sinister incarnation of austere, procedural wickedness – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's family member, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of president of the church's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his newfound influence to expand the religion's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who carried infant the heroine to refuge along a flooded river as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an university scholar with a sideline in espionage: he is dispatched to a key location to discover more about his plans. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and costly essential oil which appears in some way to be the cause of a societal and economic disturbance rippling out from the region. The extract is viewed by some as a marketable good, by different parties as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be obliterated. The dilemma of where it comes from, what it stands for, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is escalating in importance.
Like the first series, our protagonist's actions, and her future, are demonstrated to be inextricably connected with the future of the world
In its predecessor, these storylines ran mostly in parallel. In the conclusion, they come together. Like the original series, Lyra's movements and her fate are unveiled to be deeply linked with the destiny of the realm. Her personal mission to reconnect with her companion and regain her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a larger battle with an authoritarian regime which, as such regimes typically do, is striving to quell independence of thinking, originality and expression: all the personal, resistant ways in which humans can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The novel begins with the unveiling of a series of unusual cracks in the structure of the world's atmosphere: windows that appear to open into different dimensions. A particular opening manifests to be the origin of the much debated mystical extract. The church, with the antagonist at its helm, classifies these windows as a challenge to the religion's doctrine and endeavors to eliminate them. As the heroine begins to move from strict rationalism and back to instinct, yet, her conviction that these locations must be preserved – that their significance and their value is in some way crucial – grows. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the vision, or the field of roses, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a poetic struggle between innocence and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
