Things are unraveling in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of the author's grand trilogies set in a world that appears, in this volume especially, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or restructuring themselves along new and troubling lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from authorities, and gathering in the chambers of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the control of mobs. "Something is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were stable and strong are weakening and collapsing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that propels the concluding book, which continues where its predecessor left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding excursion into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting universe he first introduced in the distant past, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose terrain corresponds to that of this world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the people look and think and act like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, essences in creature form; where the skies are filled with sorceresses and gryphons, but underneath, transports are caught and drinks is sipped, and mature academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still distinctly the spiky and persistent heroine of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, warier, less certain. This circumscription is intensified by her separation from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
The daemon's resolve to go off in quest of that childlike part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an quality which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with marvel and peril on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in action, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of rigid, procedural evil – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's relative, who blames her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the position of president of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his newfound power to broaden the church's rule. Another protagonist, who rescued infant the heroine to security along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a sideline in espionage: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about Delamare's intentions. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and costly rose oil which appears in some way to be the cause of a societal and financial upheaval emanating out from that area. The oil is seen by some as a tradeable good, by others as a research-based or esoteric wonder, and by further factions – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a source of malevolence; an affront that must be destroyed. The issue of where it comes from, what it stands for, and if it should be removed or preserved is becoming urgent.
Like the original trilogy, the heroine's actions, and her future, are shown to be deeply connected with the future of the world
In its predecessor, these narratives ran largely in parallel. In The Rose Field, they merge. Like the original series, Lyra's actions and her path are revealed to be deeply linked with the future of the universe. Her individual quest to reconnect with her daemon and recover her creativity becomes the central struggle in a broader war with an authoritarian regime which, as these systems often attempt, is attempting to quell freedom of reason, innovation and expression: all the inner, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The story starts with the discovery of a set of curious openings in the fabric of the planet's atmosphere: portals that appear to lead to alternate realities. A particular opening appears to be the origin of the much debated botanical substance. The authority, with the antagonist at its helm, designates these openings as a problem to the religion's orthodoxy and endeavors to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from inflexible rationalism and back to intuition, nevertheless, her conviction that these sites must be protected – that their significance and their value is somehow crucial – increases. "The substance, or the substance, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a poetic struggle between naivety and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
