Tings are collapsing in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a realm that manifests, now more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or restructuring themselves along new and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from states, and pooling in the chambers of religious leaders, the coffers of corporations, the control of mobs. "Something is at work, silently, gradually", says businessman a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and durable are deteriorating and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Precisely what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that drives The Rose Field, which continues where its predecessor left off. This is, according to many, the author's last foray into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling realm he first unveiled three decades past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of the real world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the people appear and reason and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, beings in beast form; where the air are teeming with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, buses are taken and beverages is consumed, and middle-aged scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the first volume, the origin story with which the author began the series, is now a adult: still recognisably the sharp and persistent protagonist of the earlier books, but aged, more sorrowful, warier, more doubtful. This restraint is intensified by her split from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to depart in pursuit of that youthful part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an quality which he represents as her "creativity"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with marvel and danger on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in play, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the religious controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of rigid, procedural wickedness – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. The antagonist – our protagonist's relative, who faults her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is set on using his recently acquired authority to expand the religion's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who saved infant the heroine to safety along a flooded Thames as an young boy in La Belle Sauvage, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in spycraft: he is assigned to a key location to discover more about his intentions. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and valuable botanical extract which appears mysteriously to be the source of a societal and financial crisis emanating out from that area. The extract is seen by various factions as a marketable product, by different parties as a scientific or esoteric wonder, and by further factions – the zealous "highland figures" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be eradicated. The issue of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be destroyed or preserved is becoming urgent.
Like the first series, Lyra's actions, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inextricably linked with the fate of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran mostly in side by side. In this final book, they come together. As in His Dark Materials, Lyra's movements and her fate are unveiled to be inextricably woven with the fate of the universe. Her personal journey to reunite with her companion and regain her vision becomes the central battleground in a larger war with an authoritarian regime which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to stifle autonomy of thinking, originality and art: all the internal, resistant ways in which people can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The novel starts with the unveiling of a set of strange openings in the fabric of the planet's air: windows that appear to open into different dimensions. An example of a portal seems to be the point of the much debated mystical extract. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its leadership, designates these openings as a challenge to the institution's orthodoxy and endeavors to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to move from inflexible reason and revert to instinct, nevertheless, her belief that these sites must be protected – that what they stand for and their value is in some way vital – increases. "Dust, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a poetic struggle between purity and knowledge is established.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
