Tings are collapsing in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a realm that appears, in this volume especially, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along novel and troubling lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from authorities, and pooling in the chambers of theocrats, the vaults of corporations, the control of rioters. "Some force is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and solid are deteriorating and failing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that animates this final volume, which continues where the previous book concluded. This is, by all accounts, the author's last venture into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting universe he first introduced 30 years ago, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a world whose landscape maps on to that of our world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the people look and think and act like us, but are joined by daemons, beings in animal form; where the heavens are populated with witches and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, buses are ridden and tea is sipped, and older scholars carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the sharp and persistent protagonist of the prior volumes, but more mature, melancholic, more careful, more doubtful. This restraint is heightened by her separation from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
The daemon's resolve to depart in quest of that childlike part of her which she seems to have lost (an trait which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which followed Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with marvel and danger on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the religious controlling power, and the author's masterfully eerie embodiment of strict, procedural malice – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. The antagonist – Lyra's family member, who blames her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the role of leader of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is set on using his newfound influence to broaden the religion's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who carried baby Lyra to refuge along a swollen river as an child in La Belle Sauvage, is now an university scholar with a sideline in espionage: he is sent to a key location to discover more about Delamare's aims. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and costly botanical extract which seems somehow to be the origin of a societal and financial upheaval spreading out from the region. The substance is regarded by certain groups as a commercial commodity, by others as a research-based or esoteric miracle, and by further factions – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a wellspring of darkness; an challenge that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be removed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the original trilogy, our protagonist's deeds, and her future, are demonstrated to be inseparably connected with the destiny of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran largely in tandem. In The Rose Field, they merge. As in the original series, the protagonist's choices and her destiny are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the fate of the universe. Her individual quest to reunite with her soul and rediscover her vision becomes the primary battleground in a larger war with an authoritarian regime which, as such authorities often attempt, is striving to stifle freedom of thought, originality and culture: all the personal, resistant ways in which individuals can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The novel starts with the unveiling of a set of curious fissures in the fabric of the world's air: portals that appear to give on to alternate realities. An example of a window manifests to be the origin of the highly contested mystical extract. The authority, with the antagonist at its helm, designates these windows as a threat to the church's doctrine and sets out to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to shift from strict logic and return to instinct, yet, her conviction that these locations must be protected – that their significance and what they offer is in some way essential – strengthens. "The substance, or the substance, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a Blakean conflict between purity and experience is prepared.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
