Tings are unraveling in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a world that manifests, in this volume especially, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from governments, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the vaults of corporations, the grasp of rioters. "Something is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and solid are weakening and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Just what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that animates this final volume, which continues where its predecessor ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's final excursion into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating realm he first introduced in the distant past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a world whose geography aligns with that of this world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and behave like us, but are joined by animal souls, essences in creature form; where the air are teeming with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, vehicles are ridden and tea is consumed, and middle-aged academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the first volume, the introductory book with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still recognisably the spiky and persistent protagonist of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, more cautious, less sure. This circumscription is heightened by her division from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to depart in quest of that childlike part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an quality which he represents as her "vision"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which saw the protagonist undertake a adventurous trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with marvel and risk on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in action, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the religious controlling power, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of austere, bureaucratic evil – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. The antagonist – the heroine's uncle, who faults her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the position of leader of the Magisterium's High Council, and is intent on using his fresh power to expand the religion's control. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued young Lyra to security along a overflowing river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in espionage: he is assigned to Geneva to discover more about his intentions. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and valuable botanical extract which manifests mysteriously to be the cause of a social and economic disturbance emanating out from that area. The oil is seen by some as a tradeable commodity, by others as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by others still – the zealous "highland figures" – as a wellspring of darkness; an insult that must be eradicated. The issue of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be eliminated or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to His Dark Materials, our protagonist's decisions, and her future, are revealed to be inextricably connected with the fate of the universe
In the previous volume, these plots ran largely in tandem. In The Rose Field, they merge. Like His Dark Materials, the protagonist's choices and her path are shown to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the realm. Her private journey to reconnect with her companion and regain her imagination becomes the primary battleground in a larger battle with an controlling regime which, as such authorities often attempt, is seeking to quell autonomy of thinking, creativity and art: all the internal, defiant ways in which humans can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The story opens with the unveiling of a set of strange cracks in the structure of the world's sky: portals that appear to open into alternate realities. A particular window seems to be the source of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its head, labels these openings as a threat to the religion's doctrine and endeavors to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to move from strict rationalism and revert to instinct, however, her belief that these places must be defended – that what they stand for and what they provide is in some way crucial – strengthens. "Dust, or rose oil, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a Blakean tussle between innocence and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
