Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that seems, here more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is draining from authorities, and pooling in the offices of religious leaders, the vaults of corporations, the hands of mobs. "An element is at work, stealthily, gradually", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and solid are weakening and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that propels The Rose Field, which picks up where its predecessor ended. This is, according to many, the author's last foray into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting realm he first introduced three decades past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a world whose terrain aligns with that of this world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and reason and act like us, but are joined by daemons, souls in creature form; where the skies are teeming with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, buses are taken and drinks is sipped, and mature academics carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a child in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still distinctly the sharp and persistent main character of the previous installments, but more mature, more sorrowful, more cautious, less sure. This limitation is intensified by her split from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to leave in search of that childlike part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an aspect 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 wandering trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with amazement and danger on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the religious governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of austere, administrative malice – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the role of leader of the church's High Council, and is determined on using his fresh authority to expand the institution's rule. A key character, who saved infant the heroine to safety along a overflowing Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an academic with a sideline in intelligence work: he is assigned to Geneva to find out more about his intentions. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and costly botanical extract which manifests mysteriously to be the cause of a societal and economic upheaval spreading out from the region. The substance is seen by some as a tradeable commodity, by alternate groups as a research-based or esoteric miracle, and by others still – the zealous "highland figures" – as a origin of malevolence; an challenge that must be obliterated. The question of its origins, its significance, and if it should be destroyed or protected is escalating in importance.
Similar to the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are demonstrated to be deeply linked with the fate of the realm
In the previous volume, these storylines ran mostly in tandem. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's choices and her fate are shown to be inseparably linked with the future of the world. Her personal journey to rejoin with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the primary battleground in a wider conflict with an authoritarian system which, as such authorities often attempt, is striving to stifle autonomy of thinking, innovation and expression: all the internal, rebellious ways in which people can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The novel starts with the unveiling of a set of curious openings in the makeup of the world's air: windows that look to give on to different dimensions. One such opening seems to be the origin of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The church, with its leader at its leadership, classifies these windows as a problem to the institution's orthodoxy and sets out to eliminate them. As the heroine begins to shift from rigid rationalism and return to feeling, however, her belief that these places must be protected – that what they stand for and their value is somehow essential – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or whatever we name it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a philosophical tussle between naivety and experience is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
