Tings are unraveling in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that seems, in this volume especially, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or restructuring themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from authorities, and gathering in the offices of religious leaders, the treasuries of business empires, the grasp of mobs. "Something is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and strong are faltering and failing."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that animates the concluding book, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, according to many, the author's concluding excursion into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting realm he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose terrain aligns with that of our world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and think and act like us, but are joined by external spirits, essences in creature form; where the heavens are teeming with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but below, transports are taken and drinks is drunk, and mature academics carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the sharp and persistent heroine of the prior volumes, but more mature, sadder, more cautious, less sure. This limitation is intensified by her split from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to go off in search of that youthful part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an trait which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with marvel and risk on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the religious governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie embodiment of rigid, bureaucratic evil – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the role of head of the authority's High Council, and is determined on using his newfound authority to expand the church's control. Another protagonist, who carried young the heroine to refuge along a flooded Thames as an young boy in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a secondary role in spycraft: he is assigned to Geneva to learn more about his plans. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and valuable essential oil which appears in some way to be the cause of a social and economic disturbance spreading out from the region. The oil is seen by various factions as a marketable product, by different parties as a empirical or mystical wonder, and by others still – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its source, what it stands for, and whether it should be eliminated or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Similar to the first series, our protagonist's decisions, and her future, are shown to be deeply linked with the future of the world
In the previous volume, these storylines ran mostly in tandem. In The Rose Field, they come together. Similar to His Dark Materials, her movements and her path are revealed to be inextricably woven with the future of the realm. Her personal quest to reconnect with her companion and regain her creativity becomes the central conflict in a broader conflict with an oppressive government which, as these systems typically do, is seeking to stifle autonomy of reason, originality and art: all the personal, resistant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The story starts with the discovery of a collection of curious openings in the makeup of the Earth's sky: gateways that seem to lead to different dimensions. One such portal appears to be the source of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its helm, designates these portals as a threat to the religion's beliefs and sets out to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to move from inflexible reason and revert to instinct, however, her certainty that these locations must be preserved – that their significance and what they offer is somehow vital – increases. "The substance, or the extract, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a poetic struggle between innocence and maturity is established.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
