Tings are falling apart in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's grand trilogies set in a realm that appears, in this volume especially, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from states, and pooling in the offices of theocrats, the vaults of corporations, the control of crowds. "Some force is at work, very quietly, gradually", says merchant a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and durable are weakening and failing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that animates the concluding book, which continues where the previous book left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final foray into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling realm he first revealed 30 years ago, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose landscape maps on to that of our world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans look and reason and behave like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, souls in beast form; where the heavens are populated with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, transports are taken and drinks is sipped, and older academics carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which Pullman began the series, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the spiky and persistent main character of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, warier, less certain. This limitation is amplified by her split from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to leave in quest of that innocent part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an quality which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed Lyra undertake a wandering trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with wonder and danger on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in action, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the religious governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling representation of strict, administrative wickedness – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. The antagonist – Lyra's relative, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of president of the Magisterium's High Council, and is determined on using his recently acquired influence to expand the institution's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who carried young the heroine to refuge along a overflowing Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in spycraft: he is assigned to a key location to learn more about Delamare's aims. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and valuable rose oil which manifests mysteriously to be the cause of a social and financial upheaval spreading out from that area. The oil is regarded by certain groups as a marketable good, by alternate groups as a empirical or mystical phenomenon, and by further factions – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an challenge that must be obliterated. The issue of its source, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
Like His Dark Materials, the heroine's deeds, and her destiny, are revealed to be deeply connected with the destiny of the realm
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in parallel. In The Rose Field, they merge. Similar to His Dark Materials, her actions and her destiny are unveiled to be inextricably woven with the destiny of the universe. Her private quest to rejoin with her companion and regain her vision becomes the primary battleground in a larger conflict with an controlling regime which, as these systems often attempt, is striving to stifle autonomy of thought, creativity and art: all the inner, resistant ways in which people can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The book begins with the finding of a set of unusual openings in the structure of the world's sky: windows that seem to lead to other worlds. One such portal seems to be the origin of the much debated botanical substance. The authority, with Delamare at its leadership, designates these windows as a challenge to the institution's orthodoxy and sets out to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from inflexible logic and back to instinct, nevertheless, her conviction that these places must be preserved – that their meaning and what they offer is mysteriously vital – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a poetic struggle between innocence and knowledge is established.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
