Things are falling apart in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that manifests, in this volume especially, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is draining from authorities, and accumulating in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of conglomerates, the grasp of mobs. "Something is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and durable are weakening and failing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that propels The Rose Field, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's concluding venture into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating world he first revealed in the distant past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose geography maps on to that of the real world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the people appear and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, souls in creature form; where the skies are filled with sorceresses and gryphons, but underneath, vehicles are caught and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still distinctly the spiky and tenacious heroine of the earlier books, but more mature, sadder, more careful, less sure. This restraint is intensified by her division from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
The daemon's resolve to depart in search of that youthful part of her which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and danger on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in play, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the church's controlling power, and the author's deliciously chilling incarnation of austere, administrative malice – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's relative, who blames her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of head of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his newfound authority to broaden the institution's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued young Lyra to safety along a overflowing river as an young boy in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in espionage: he is assigned to Geneva to find out more about his plans. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and precious essential oil which manifests mysteriously to be the origin of a social and economic upheaval rippling out from Central Asia. The substance is seen by certain groups as a marketable product, by different parties as a scientific or spiritual miracle, and by others still – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a source of malevolence; an challenge that must be eradicated. The dilemma of where it comes from, its meaning, and if it should be destroyed or protected is becoming urgent.
Like the first series, the heroine's deeds, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inseparably connected with the destiny of the realm
In its predecessor, these narratives ran largely in tandem. In this final book, they come together. Similar to the original series, Lyra's actions and her fate are revealed to be inseparably entwined with the future of the realm. Her private mission to reunite with her soul and regain her creativity becomes the key battleground in a wider battle with an authoritarian system which, as these systems typically do, is striving to stifle independence of reason, creativity and expression: all the inner, resistant ways in which humans can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The book starts with the finding of a set of curious cracks in the fabric of the planet's sky: windows that seem to lead to alternate realities. An example of a portal manifests to be the point of the much debated rose oil. The authority, with Delamare at its head, designates these portals as a threat to the institution's beliefs and endeavors to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from inflexible rationalism and back to intuition, nevertheless, her certainty that these places must be defended – that their significance and their value is mysteriously crucial – increases. "The substance, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or whatever we call it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a philosophical struggle between purity and knowledge is set.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
