Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's masterful trilogies set in a world that appears, here more than ever, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reassembling themselves along novel and troubling lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from states, and gathering in the offices of religious leaders, the coffers of corporations, the hands of crowds. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and solid are faltering and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Just what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels the concluding book, which picks up where the previous book left off. This is, according to many, Pullman's last excursion into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting world he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose geography maps on to that of our world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals appear and think and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, beings in beast form; where the skies are populated with witches and legendary creatures, but below, transports are ridden and beverages is consumed, and older professors carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the prickly and tenacious main character of the previous installments, but aged, more sorrowful, more careful, more doubtful. This restraint is amplified by her split from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
The daemon's resolve to leave in search of that childlike part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with marvel and risk on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in action, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the religious ruling body, and the author's deliciously chilling embodiment of strict, procedural wickedness – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's family member, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the office of president of the Magisterium's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound influence to broaden the church's rule. A key character, who carried young the heroine to safety along a overflowing river as an young boy in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in spycraft: he is assigned to a key location to discover more about the antagonist's intentions. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and valuable essential oil which manifests in some way to be the origin of a societal and economic crisis rippling out from Central Asia. The extract is viewed by some as a commercial commodity, by different parties as a empirical or mystical phenomenon, and by others still – the zealous "highland figures" – as a origin of evil; an challenge that must be destroyed. The issue of where it comes from, its meaning, and if it should be eliminated or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's deeds, and her destiny, are shown to be inseparably entwined with the fate of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran broadly in side by side. In The Rose Field, they come together. As in His Dark Materials, Lyra's choices and her fate are unveiled to be deeply woven with the future of the realm. Her individual quest to rejoin with her companion and rediscover her vision becomes the key conflict in a larger war with an authoritarian government which, as these systems typically do, is striving to suppress autonomy of thought, originality and culture: all the internal, rebellious ways in which people can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The story starts with the finding of a series of curious cracks in the fabric of the Earth's atmosphere: windows that appear to give on to other worlds. A particular opening seems to be the origin of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The authority, with Delamare at its head, designates these portals as a threat to the religion's beliefs and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to move from inflexible rationalism and back to instinct, yet, her conviction that these sites must be preserved – that what they stand for and what they offer is mysteriously vital – increases. "Dust, or the substance, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a philosophical conflict between purity and maturity is set.
Story Tempo and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
