Tings are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that appears, in this volume especially, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from governments, and gathering in the halls of religious leaders, the treasuries of corporations, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, gradually", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and strong are deteriorating and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Just what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that animates The Rose Field, which continues where its predecessor left off. This is, according to many, Pullman's last foray into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling universe he first introduced three decades past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of this world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the people look and think and act like us, but are joined by daemons, beings in animal form; where the air are teeming with sorceresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, buses are caught and beverages is consumed, and older professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still clearly the spiky and tenacious protagonist of the earlier books, but older, more sorrowful, more cautious, less sure. This circumscription is heightened by her split from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to leave in quest of that childlike part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an trait which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with marvel and peril on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in action, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the church's controlling power, and the author's deliciously chilling embodiment of austere, procedural malice – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the role of leader of the church's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound influence to extend the church's rule. Another protagonist, who carried infant the heroine to refuge along a overflowing river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in spycraft: he is assigned to Geneva to discover more about the antagonist's intentions. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and costly botanical extract which manifests in some way to be the source of a social and financial upheaval emanating out from the region. The oil is regarded by some as a tradeable good, by alternate groups as a research-based or esoteric wonder, and by others still – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a source of darkness; an insult that must be destroyed. The dilemma of where it comes from, its meaning, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is becoming urgent.
Like the original trilogy, Lyra's decisions, and her fate, are demonstrated to be inextricably entwined with the future of the world
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in tandem. In the conclusion, they merge. As in His Dark Materials, Lyra's choices and her path are revealed to be inseparably woven with the destiny of the world. Her personal mission to reunite with her companion and regain her imagination becomes the primary battleground in a wider battle with an controlling system which, as these systems always have, is attempting to quell freedom of reason, originality and art: all the personal, rebellious ways in which humans can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The story starts with the finding of a collection of curious fissures in the structure of the world's sky: gateways that look to lead to alternate realities. An example of a window seems to be the origin of the highly contested botanical substance. The authority, with the antagonist at its leadership, classifies these portals as a threat to the church's beliefs and aims to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from rigid reason and return to instinct, however, her belief that these sites must be defended – that what they stand for and their value is mysteriously vital – grows. "Dust, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a poetic conflict between innocence and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
