Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that manifests, now more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along novel and troubling lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is draining from authorities, and gathering in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of corporations, the grasp of mobs. "An element is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and solid are faltering and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that animates this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's last foray into the elaborately built, deeply captivating universe he first unveiled in the distant past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a world whose geography maps on to that of this world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the individuals look and reason and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, essences in beast form; where the air are filled with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, transports are taken and beverages is drunk, and older scholars carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the prequel, the origin story with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still recognisably the spiky and tenacious heroine of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, more cautious, less certain. This restraint is amplified by her split from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to depart in search of that childlike part of her which she seems to have lost (an trait which he represents as her "vision"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque trek across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and peril on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in motion, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of austere, bureaucratic wickedness – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. The antagonist – Lyra's relative, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the office of head of the church's ruling assembly, and is set on using his recently acquired authority to extend the religion's control. Malcolm Polstead, who carried baby Lyra to refuge along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a secondary role in espionage: he is dispatched to a key location to find out more about his aims. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and valuable rose oil which appears mysteriously to be the source of a societal and financial upheaval spreading out from Central Asia. The extract is seen by various factions as a marketable good, by others as a research-based or spiritual wonder, and by others still – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be destroyed. The question of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be eliminated or protected is becoming urgent.
Like the original trilogy, our protagonist's actions, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be deeply linked with the future of the world
In the previous volume, these storylines ran largely in parallel. In The Rose Field, they come together. Similar to the original series, her choices and her destiny are revealed to be deeply linked with the fate of the world. Her personal journey to rejoin with her daemon and regain her vision becomes the primary struggle in a broader battle with an controlling regime which, as such regimes often attempt, is attempting to suppress independence of thinking, innovation and expression: all the inner, resistant ways in which individuals can be free.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The book begins with the finding of a set of curious openings in the makeup of the world's sky: portals that appear to lead to different dimensions. One such window appears to be the origin of the much debated botanical substance. The authority, with the antagonist at its leadership, classifies these windows as a threat to the church's beliefs and aims to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to move from rigid rationalism and back to feeling, yet, her certainty that these locations must be protected – that what they stand for and their value is somehow crucial – increases. "The substance, or the substance, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a Blakean tussle between innocence and maturity is established.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
