Things are collapsing in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that appears, in this volume especially, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Organizations 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 states, and gathering in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of business empires, the grasp of rioters. "Some force is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and strong are faltering and failing."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Precisely what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that animates the concluding book, which picks up where the previous book left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding venture into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating realm he first unveiled in the distant past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose landscape maps on to that of this world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals appear and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by daemons, essences in creature form; where the skies are teeming with enchantresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, vehicles are taken and drinks is sipped, and middle-aged scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the sharp and persistent main character of the prior volumes, but more mature, melancholic, more cautious, less certain. This circumscription is intensified by her separation from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to go off in quest of that childlike part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with marvel and risk on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in play, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of austere, administrative evil – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's family member, who faults her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of leader of the church's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his newfound power to expand the church's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who carried infant the heroine to refuge along a flooded Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is assigned to a key location to learn more about Delamare's aims. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and precious essential oil which appears mysteriously to be the cause of a societal and financial disturbance spreading out from Central Asia. The substance is regarded by some as a tradeable good, by alternate groups as a empirical or esoteric wonder, and by yet others – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its origins, what it stands for, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the original trilogy, the heroine's deeds, and her future, are shown to be deeply linked with the future of the universe
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in side by side. In The Rose Field, they come together. As in the original series, Lyra's choices and her fate are unveiled to be deeply entwined with the fate of the realm. Her individual mission to reunite with her daemon and recover her imagination becomes the central struggle in a wider war with an authoritarian system which, as such regimes often attempt, is attempting to stifle autonomy of thinking, innovation and culture: all the personal, resistant ways in which people can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The story starts with the finding of a collection of unusual fissures in the structure of the planet's air: gateways that look to lead to other worlds. A particular opening manifests to be the origin of the highly contested botanical substance. The Magisterium, with its leader at its head, classifies these openings as a threat to the church's beliefs and endeavors to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to move from rigid logic and return to instinct, nevertheless, her belief that these places must be protected – that their meaning and what they offer is mysteriously essential – increases. "Dust, or the extract, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or whatever we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a philosophical tussle between purity and experience is established.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
