Things are falling apart in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a world that appears, in this volume especially, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Organizations are failing, or reorganizing themselves along new and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from states, and gathering in the chambers of theocrats, the vaults of business empires, the grasp of mobs. "An element is at work, stealthily, gradually", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and strong are deteriorating and failing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that drives The Rose Field, which picks up where its predecessor ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final foray into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling universe he first introduced three decades past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a world whose geography aligns with that of the real world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals look and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, essences in creature form; where the air are populated with witches and legendary creatures, but below, buses are ridden and drinks is sipped, and older academics carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still distinctly the spiky and tenacious protagonist of the prior volumes, but more mature, more sorrowful, more careful, more doubtful. This restraint is intensified by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
His choice to depart in pursuit of that childlike part of her which she may have forgotten (an quality which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a picaresque trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with wonder and peril on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in play, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the faith's ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie embodiment of strict, bureaucratic evil – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the office of head of the authority's High Council, and is intent on using his recently acquired power to extend the church's control. A key character, who carried baby the heroine to refuge along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a sideline in spycraft: he is dispatched to Geneva to find out more about his aims. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and precious botanical extract which seems mysteriously to be the source of a societal and financial crisis spreading out from the region. The oil is seen by various factions as a marketable product, by others as a research-based or spiritual phenomenon, and by yet others – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a source of darkness; an insult that must be eradicated. The issue of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
Like His Dark Materials, the heroine's decisions, and her fate, are shown to be deeply linked with the fate of the world
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in parallel. In this final book, they converge. Similar to His Dark Materials, the protagonist's choices and her fate are revealed to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the universe. Her private mission to rejoin with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the key struggle in a wider battle with an oppressive regime which, as these systems typically do, is attempting to stifle independence of reason, originality and art: all the inner, resistant ways in which individuals can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the unveiling of a series of strange openings in the structure of the Earth's sky: windows that seem to open into different dimensions. One such opening seems to be the point of the much debated mystical extract. The authority, with Delamare at its helm, classifies these windows as a challenge to the religion's beliefs and aims to eliminate them. As the heroine begins to turn away from strict rationalism and back to instinct, yet, her certainty that these places must be defended – that what they stand for and what they provide is somehow crucial – grows. "The substance, or the extract, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a Blakean conflict between naivety and knowledge is set.
Story Tempo and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
