Things are collapsing in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a world that seems, now more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along new and troubling lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from governments, and accumulating in the chambers of religious leaders, the coffers of conglomerates, the control of crowds. "Some force is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were secure and durable are weakening and failing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels The Rose Field, which picks up where the previous book ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding excursion into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling universe he first revealed 30 years ago, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of our world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the humans appear and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by daemons, souls in creature form; where the heavens are populated with witches and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, transports are taken and tea is sipped, and mature scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still distinctly the spiky and persistent main character of the previous installments, but aged, melancholic, more careful, less sure. This restraint is heightened by her separation from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to leave in pursuit of that youthful part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an trait which he represents as her "imagination"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with amazement and danger on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of strict, procedural evil – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – our protagonist's family member, who blames her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is intent on using his recently acquired influence to expand the institution's control. Another protagonist, who saved baby the heroine to safety along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an academic with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is assigned to the city to find out more about the antagonist's aims. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and costly essential oil which manifests mysteriously to be the source of a societal and economic crisis rippling out from Central Asia. The extract is seen by certain groups as a marketable product, by different parties as a research-based or mystical wonder, and by further factions – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an challenge that must be eradicated. The question of its source, its meaning, and whether it should be destroyed or preserved is escalating in importance.
Similar to the first series, the heroine's decisions, and her fate, are shown to be inseparably entwined with the fate of the world
In its predecessor, these plots ran broadly in parallel. In The Rose Field, they come together. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's movements and her path are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the future of the realm. Her private quest to reunite with her soul and regain her imagination becomes the key struggle in a larger conflict with an authoritarian system which, as such authorities typically do, is striving to suppress autonomy of reason, innovation and art: all the inner, defiant ways in which humans can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The novel opens with the discovery of a set of curious fissures in the structure of the Earth's atmosphere: gateways that appear to give on to different dimensions. One such window seems to be the origin of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The church, with its leader at its head, labels these openings as a challenge to the religion's beliefs and sets out to destroy them. As Lyra begins to turn away from rigid logic and revert to instinct, yet, her certainty that these locations must be protected – that their meaning and their value is mysteriously crucial – strengthens. "Dust, or the extract, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or whatever we label it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a Blakean tussle between naivety and experience is set.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
