Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that seems, now more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reassembling themselves along new and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is draining from states, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the grasp of mobs. "Something is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and durable are deteriorating and giving way."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that something 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, by all accounts, the author's last venture into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting universe he first unveiled in the distant past, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose landscape maps on to that of the real world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and act like us, but are joined by external spirits, beings in creature form; where the air are filled with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but below, vehicles are caught and drinks is consumed, and older professors carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still recognisably the prickly and determined protagonist of the prior volumes, but older, sadder, more careful, less sure. This circumscription is amplified by her separation from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to leave in pursuit of that innocent part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled Lyra undertake a picaresque journey across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with amazement and peril on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in play, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the religious governing authority, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of strict, bureaucratic evil – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's relative, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of president of the church's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his newfound authority to broaden the church's control. A key character, who rescued baby the heroine to refuge along a overflowing river as an young boy in the first book, is now an academic with a additional duty in spycraft: he is sent to Geneva to discover more about Delamare's plans. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and costly essential oil which appears in some way to be the origin of a societal and financial disturbance spreading out from that area. The extract is regarded by some as a commercial product, by alternate groups as a empirical or spiritual phenomenon, and by yet others – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a source of darkness; an insult that must be eradicated. The dilemma of where it comes from, what it stands for, and if it should be removed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the original trilogy, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are shown to be deeply entwined with the fate of the universe
In its predecessor, these narratives ran mostly in side by side. In The Rose Field, they converge. As in His Dark Materials, her choices and her destiny are shown to be inseparably woven with the destiny of the universe. Her personal mission to rejoin with her companion and rediscover her imagination becomes the central conflict in a broader battle with an authoritarian regime which, as such regimes typically do, is seeking to quell independence of reason, originality and art: all the inner, resistant ways in which humans can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The novel begins with the discovery of a collection of strange openings in the makeup of the planet's atmosphere: gateways that seem to give on to different dimensions. An example of a portal seems to be the point of the much debated botanical substance. The church, with its leader at its helm, classifies these windows as a challenge to the church's orthodoxy and sets out to destroy them. As the heroine begins to shift from strict rationalism and return to instinct, nevertheless, her belief that these sites must be protected – that what they stand for and their value is somehow essential – grows. "The substance, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a philosophical struggle between naivety and experience is prepared.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
