Things are falling apart in the last installment of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that appears, now more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is draining from governments, and accumulating in the halls of theocrats, the vaults of corporations, the grasp of rioters. "An element is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and durable are weakening and failing."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Exactly what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that propels the concluding book, which picks up where its predecessor ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final foray into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling universe he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose geography corresponds 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 animal souls, essences in creature form; where the air are filled with witches and mythical beasts, but below, vehicles are ridden and drinks is drunk, and mature professors carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a child in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the prequel, the origin story with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still distinctly the sharp and persistent heroine of the previous installments, but aged, melancholic, more cautious, less certain. This circumscription is amplified by her division from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
His choice to depart in search of that youthful part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he represents as her "creativity"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous journey across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with marvel and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie embodiment of austere, procedural evil – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's uncle, who faults her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of head of the authority's governing body, and is intent on using his recently acquired power to expand the religion's rule. A key character, who saved infant the heroine to security along a flooded Thames as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in espionage: he is sent to the city to find out more about Delamare's aims. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and valuable botanical extract which manifests somehow to be the source of a societal and economic crisis emanating out from the region. The substance is seen by some as a commercial product, by alternate groups as a empirical or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be eradicated. The dilemma of where it comes from, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or protected is becoming urgent.
Similar to His Dark Materials, the heroine's actions, and her future, are shown to be inseparably connected with the fate of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran largely in side by side. In The Rose Field, they merge. Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's movements and her path are unveiled to be inextricably woven with the destiny of the universe. Her private journey to reunite with her daemon and recover her creativity becomes the key struggle in a wider war with an controlling regime which, as such regimes typically do, is attempting to stifle independence of thinking, innovation and art: all the personal, rebellious ways in which people can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The novel begins with the unveiling of a collection of strange fissures in the makeup of the planet's sky: gateways that look to lead to different dimensions. An example of a window seems to be the origin of the much debated mystical extract. The Magisterium, with its leader at its helm, labels these portals as a problem to the religion's beliefs and aims to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to shift from strict rationalism and back to instinct, nevertheless, her certainty that these sites must be defended – that their meaning and what they offer is mysteriously crucial – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a philosophical tussle between innocence and maturity is established.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
