Things are unraveling in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that appears, now more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along new and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from authorities, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of conglomerates, the hands of mobs. "Some force is at work, silently, gradually", says businessman a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were stable and solid are weakening and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Her Quest
Exactly what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that drives The Rose Field, which resumes where the previous book concluded. This is, reportedly, the author's concluding venture into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating realm he first revealed 30 years ago, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose geography aligns with that of this world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the people appear and reason and act like us, but are joined by external spirits, essences in beast form; where the heavens are filled with enchantresses and gryphons, but below, vehicles are caught and drinks is consumed, and mature scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the prequel, the origin story with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still clearly the prickly and tenacious protagonist of the previous installments, but older, sadder, warier, more doubtful. This circumscription is amplified by her split from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to leave in search of that childlike part of her which she appears to have shed (an quality which he represents as her "imagination"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with marvel and peril on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie representation of rigid, bureaucratic wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's relative, who blames her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the position of head of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his recently acquired influence to extend the church's control. Another protagonist, who carried young Lyra to refuge along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in espionage: he is sent to the city to learn more about his intentions. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and costly botanical extract which seems somehow to be the source of a societal and economic disturbance spreading out from that area. The substance is viewed by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by others as a scientific or esoteric phenomenon, and by others still – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a source of malevolence; an insult that must be obliterated. The issue of where it comes from, its significance, and whether it should be eliminated or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's deeds, and her fate, are revealed to be deeply linked with the fate of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran mostly in tandem. In this final book, they converge. Like His Dark Materials, Lyra's movements and her destiny are unveiled to be inseparably entwined with the destiny of the world. Her private mission to reconnect with her soul and regain her creativity becomes the key struggle in a larger battle with an oppressive government which, as these systems always have, is seeking to suppress autonomy of reason, creativity and expression: all the personal, defiant ways in which people can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The story opens with the unveiling of a set of strange cracks in the fabric of the world's air: gateways that seem to give on to different dimensions. An example of a window seems to be the origin of the much debated mystical extract. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its head, labels these openings as a problem to the religion's doctrine and sets out to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to move from rigid rationalism and revert to feeling, yet, her certainty that these sites must be protected – that what they stand for and what they offer is somehow vital – grows. "The substance, or the extract, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a philosophical struggle between purity and experience is prepared.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
