Things are unraveling in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a realm that seems, now more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along new and troubling lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from authorities, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of business empires, the grasp of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and durable are weakening and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that drives the concluding book, which picks up where its predecessor ended. This is, according to many, the author's final excursion into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling realm he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a world whose terrain corresponds to that of this world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals look and reason and act like us, but are joined by daemons, essences in beast form; where the heavens are teeming with witches and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, transports are ridden and beverages is sipped, and mature professors carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in the prequel, the origin story with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the prickly and determined protagonist of the previous installments, but more mature, sadder, more cautious, less sure. This limitation is intensified by her split from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
The daemon's resolve to depart in quest of that youthful part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with amazement and peril on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of strict, procedural evil – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. The antagonist – our protagonist's relative, who faults her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the role of head of the church's governing body, and is set on using his recently acquired authority to expand the church's control. Another protagonist, who rescued young Lyra to refuge along a flooded river as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a additional duty in spycraft: he is sent to a key location to discover more about Delamare's plans. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and precious essential oil which appears in some way to be the origin of a social and economic upheaval emanating out from Central Asia. The oil is regarded by some as a tradeable good, by alternate groups as a scientific or spiritual miracle, and by yet others – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of darkness; an affront that must be destroyed. The question of where it comes from, its significance, and whether it should be eliminated or protected is escalating in importance.
As in the original trilogy, our protagonist's actions, and her fate, are demonstrated to be inseparably entwined with the fate of the universe
In its predecessor, these plots ran broadly in tandem. In The Rose Field, they converge. Similar to the original series, her actions and her path are revealed to be inseparably woven with the destiny of the universe. Her individual quest to rejoin with her soul and recover her imagination becomes the central conflict in a broader conflict with an controlling system which, as these systems often attempt, is striving to quell independence of thought, originality and art: all the internal, rebellious ways in which humans can be free.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The book starts with the finding of a set of curious cracks in the structure of the Earth's air: portals that appear to give on to other worlds. An example of a portal seems to be the origin of the highly contested botanical substance. The church, with Delamare at its head, labels these portals as a threat to the institution's doctrine and endeavors to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from strict reason and revert to instinct, yet, her conviction that these places must be defended – that their significance and what they provide is mysteriously crucial – grows. "Dust, or the extract, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we label it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a Blakean tussle between purity and maturity is established.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
