Things are collapsing in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's grand trilogies set in a world that appears, now more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along novel and troubling lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from authorities, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the vaults of corporations, the hands of crowds. "An element is at work, stealthily, gradually", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and durable are deteriorating and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Precisely what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that drives the concluding book, which resumes where the previous book concluded. This is, according to many, Pullman's last foray into the elaborately built, deeply captivating universe he first introduced 30 years ago, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose terrain corresponds to that of our world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the humans look and reason and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, essences in creature form; where the heavens are populated with sorceresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, vehicles are ridden and drinks is consumed, and mature scholars carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a child in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still recognisably the prickly and persistent protagonist of the earlier books, but older, sadder, more careful, less certain. This restraint is intensified by her split from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to go off in quest of that innocent part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an trait which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and danger on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in action, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the faith's controlling power, and the author's masterfully eerie incarnation of rigid, administrative wickedness – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's uncle, who blames her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the role of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is determined on using his recently acquired power to extend the institution's dominium. A key character, who carried infant Lyra to security along a overflowing river as an child in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in espionage: he is dispatched to a key location to learn more about his plans. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and valuable rose oil which seems somehow to be the cause of a social and financial disturbance emanating out from the region. The oil is seen by some as a tradeable good, by others as a empirical or spiritual phenomenon, and by yet others – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a source of malevolence; an insult that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its origins, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or preserved is becoming urgent.
Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's decisions, and her future, are shown to be inextricably connected with the destiny of the universe
In the previous volume, these plots ran mostly in tandem. In The Rose Field, they converge. As in the original series, Lyra's actions and her path are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the future of the universe. Her private journey to reconnect with her soul and regain her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a wider conflict with an oppressive government which, as these systems always have, is seeking to quell autonomy of thought, innovation and expression: all the personal, rebellious ways in which individuals can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The story opens with the discovery of a series of strange cracks in the structure of the planet's sky: windows that look to give on to alternate realities. One such window appears to be the origin of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The Magisterium, with its leader at its leadership, classifies these openings as a threat to the institution's doctrine and sets out to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to move from rigid reason and revert to intuition, yet, her belief that these places must be preserved – that what they stand for and their value is somehow crucial – strengthens. "Dust, or the substance, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a Blakean conflict between purity and knowledge is established.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
