Things are unraveling in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that seems, now more than ever, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reorganizing themselves along new and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is draining from states, and pooling in the chambers of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the control of crowds. "An element is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and strong are faltering and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that drives The Rose Field, which continues where its predecessor left off. This is, according to many, the author's concluding foray into the elaborately built, deeply captivating realm he first introduced 30 years ago, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose geography maps on to that of the real world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, beings in animal form; where the skies are teeming with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but below, vehicles are caught and drinks is drunk, and older professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the first volume, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a young woman: still recognisably the sharp and tenacious heroine of the earlier books, but older, melancholic, more cautious, less certain. This circumscription is heightened by her separation from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to leave in quest of that youthful part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an trait which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a wandering trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with amazement and danger on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in play, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the church's ruling body, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of strict, administrative evil – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the position of leader of the authority's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound influence to extend the religion's rule. A key character, who rescued young Lyra to safety along a flooded river as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is dispatched to Geneva to discover more about Delamare's plans. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and valuable essential oil which seems mysteriously to be the origin of a social and financial crisis rippling out from the region. The substance is viewed by certain groups as a commercial product, by alternate groups as a empirical or mystical wonder, and by further factions – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a origin of darkness; an insult that must be destroyed. The issue of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be eliminated or preserved is becoming urgent.
Like His Dark Materials, Lyra's actions, and her destiny, are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the future of the realm
In its predecessor, these narratives ran broadly in tandem. In the conclusion, they come together. As in the first trilogy, Lyra's choices and her destiny are unveiled to be deeply entwined with the future of the world. Her personal mission to reunite with her companion and recover her imagination becomes the central battleground in a broader war with an oppressive government which, as such regimes typically do, is striving to stifle freedom of thinking, originality and art: all the internal, rebellious ways in which individuals can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The book begins with the discovery of a collection of strange cracks in the fabric of the world's air: portals that appear to open into other worlds. An example of a portal manifests to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its helm, designates these windows as a threat to the institution's beliefs and endeavors to destroy them. As Lyra begins to shift from rigid reason and revert to feeling, yet, her belief that these locations must be protected – that their meaning and what they provide is mysteriously vital – increases. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or whatever we name it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a philosophical tussle between innocence and knowledge is established.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
