Things are unraveling in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a realm that appears, here more than ever, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Organizations are failing, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from governments, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the grasp of crowds. "Some force is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and strong are faltering and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that propels The Rose Field, which resumes where the previous book left off. This is, according to many, Pullman's last foray into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting realm he first introduced 30 years ago, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of our world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the people appear and think and act like us, but are paired by external spirits, essences in creature form; where the skies are filled with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but below, transports are taken and drinks is drunk, and older academics carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still recognisably the sharp and tenacious main character of the earlier books, but more mature, sadder, more cautious, more doubtful. This restraint is amplified by her division from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
The daemon's resolve to leave in quest of that childlike part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an trait which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with wonder and peril on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of strict, procedural wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – the heroine's family member, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of president of the authority's ruling assembly, and is set on using his recently acquired authority to expand the church's dominium. A key character, who saved baby Lyra to refuge along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a sideline in espionage: he is sent to a key location to find out more about Delamare's aims. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and costly essential oil which appears somehow to be the source of a social and economic upheaval emanating out from the region. The substance is viewed by certain groups as a commercial product, by alternate groups as a research-based or spiritual phenomenon, and by others still – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a source of malevolence; an challenge that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its source, what it stands for, and if it should be eliminated or protected is escalating in importance.
Similar to the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are demonstrated to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the realm
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. As in the original series, her actions and her path are unveiled to be inextricably entwined with the future of the universe. Her individual mission to reconnect with her soul and recover her imagination becomes the primary battleground in a wider battle with an controlling system which, as these systems often attempt, is striving to stifle independence of reason, originality and art: all the inner, resistant ways in which humans can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The novel begins with the finding of a collection of unusual fissures in the fabric of the planet's air: windows that seem to lead to alternate realities. One such opening appears to be the source of the highly contested botanical substance. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its helm, designates these portals as a problem to the institution's orthodoxy and sets out to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from inflexible reason and back to feeling, yet, her certainty that these locations must be protected – that their meaning and what they provide is somehow vital – increases. "The substance, or the extract, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or no matter what we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a philosophical struggle between innocence and maturity is established.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
