Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's masterful trilogies set in a realm that manifests, now more than ever, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reassembling themselves along new and troubling lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from authorities, and gathering in the chambers of theocrats, the treasuries of business empires, the control of mobs. "An element is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and solid are weakening and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels The Rose Field, which resumes where the previous book left off. This is, reportedly, the author's last excursion into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating universe he first introduced three decades past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose terrain aligns with that of the real world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and think and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, beings in creature form; where the skies are teeming with witches and gryphons, but below, buses are taken and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged professors carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still recognisably the spiky and tenacious main character of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, warier, less certain. This restraint is amplified by her division from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to go off in search of that youthful part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an trait which he represents as her "vision"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with marvel and peril on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in motion, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the church's ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of strict, procedural malice – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's relative, who faults her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of head of the authority's High Council, and is determined on using his newfound influence to extend the religion's dominium. A key character, who rescued young the heroine to security along a swollen Thames as an child in the first book, is now an academic with a secondary role in spycraft: he is sent to the city to find out more about his intentions. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and precious rose oil which seems in some way to be the origin of a social and economic disturbance emanating out from the region. The oil is viewed by certain groups as a commercial product, by alternate groups as a research-based or spiritual phenomenon, and by further factions – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of darkness; an challenge that must be destroyed. The issue of where it comes from, what it stands for, and whether it should be removed or preserved is escalating in importance.
Similar to the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her future, are revealed to be inextricably connected with the fate of the world
In the previous volume, these narratives ran largely in parallel. In the conclusion, they come together. Like the first trilogy, her choices and her path are shown to be deeply linked with the destiny of the world. Her personal journey to reunite with her soul and regain her vision becomes the central battleground in a wider war with an authoritarian system which, as such regimes often attempt, is attempting to suppress freedom of reason, originality and culture: all the internal, defiant ways in which humans can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The book starts with the unveiling of a collection of strange cracks in the fabric of the planet's air: gateways that look to lead to alternate realities. A particular window seems to be the source of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with its leader at its helm, labels these openings as a challenge to the church's doctrine and sets out to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to move from strict rationalism and back to intuition, nevertheless, her belief that these sites must be protected – that their significance and what they provide is somehow vital – grows. "Dust, or the extract, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or no matter what we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean struggle between purity and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
