Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a world that manifests, in this volume especially, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along new and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from states, and accumulating in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of business empires, the grasp of rioters. "Some force is at work, stealthily, gradually", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and durable are faltering and giving way."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that propels The Rose Field, which resumes where its predecessor concluded. This is, according to many, Pullman's concluding venture into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting universe he first revealed three decades past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose landscape aligns with that of the real world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, souls in animal form; where the heavens are teeming with witches and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, buses are ridden and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged academics carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still distinctly the spiky and determined main character of the previous installments, but aged, more sorrowful, warier, more doubtful. This circumscription is amplified by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to leave in quest of that childlike part of her which she appears to have shed (an trait which he represents as her "vision"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which saw Lyra undertake a wandering journey across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and danger on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in motion, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the religious ruling body, and the author's deliciously chilling incarnation of rigid, procedural malice – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's family member, who faults her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the office of head of the authority's governing body, and is set on using his fresh authority to expand the religion's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who saved young Lyra to security along a flooded Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a sideline in spycraft: he is dispatched to the city to learn more about his plans. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and valuable botanical extract which seems mysteriously to be the cause of a social and economic crisis rippling out from Central Asia. The oil is viewed by some as a marketable good, by different parties as a scientific or mystical phenomenon, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a origin of malevolence; an insult that must be eradicated. The question of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
As in His Dark Materials, our protagonist's deeds, and her destiny, are shown to be deeply entwined with the fate of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran broadly in parallel. In The Rose Field, they merge. As in the first trilogy, her movements and her destiny are revealed to be deeply linked with the future of the realm. Her personal quest to reconnect with her soul and rediscover her imagination becomes the key battleground in a broader war with an controlling system which, as such authorities always have, is striving to suppress independence of reason, innovation and expression: all the internal, rebellious ways in which people can be free.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The novel begins with the finding of a series of curious openings in the structure of the planet's sky: portals that seem to open into different dimensions. An example of a opening seems to be the origin of the much debated mystical extract. The Magisterium, with its leader at its helm, labels these openings as a challenge to the church's orthodoxy and endeavors to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to shift from inflexible reason and revert to instinct, yet, her certainty that these places must be protected – that what they stand for and what they offer is somehow vital – increases. "The substance, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a poetic tussle between naivety and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
