Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that seems, here more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reassembling themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from governments, and gathering in the offices of religious leaders, the treasuries of corporations, the grasp of rioters. "Some force is at work, stealthily, gradually", says businessman a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and durable are weakening and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Just what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels the concluding book, which continues where its predecessor ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final excursion into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling universe he first unveiled three decades past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose geography maps on to that of the real world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals appear and think and act like us, but are paired by daemons, souls in beast form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but below, transports are taken and drinks is drunk, and middle-aged academics carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the prequel, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the prickly and persistent main character of the previous installments, but aged, more sorrowful, more cautious, less certain. This limitation is amplified by her division from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to go off in quest of that youthful part of her which she may have forgotten (an quality which he represents as her "vision"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed Lyra undertake a wandering voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with wonder and peril on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in action, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the religious ruling body, and the author's brilliantly sinister incarnation of austere, procedural malice – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's family member, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the position of head of the authority's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his fresh influence to expand the religion's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who carried infant Lyra to security along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is sent to Geneva to discover more about Delamare's aims. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and valuable essential oil which appears somehow to be the cause of a social and economic upheaval emanating out from Central Asia. The substance is viewed by some as a tradeable product, by alternate groups as a research-based or esoteric miracle, and by further factions – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a origin of evil; an challenge that must be obliterated. The issue of its source, what it stands for, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
Like the original trilogy, Lyra's decisions, and her destiny, are shown to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the world
In its predecessor, these storylines ran mostly in parallel. In The Rose Field, they merge. As in the first trilogy, Lyra's movements and her path are revealed to be inextricably linked with the future of the universe. Her individual mission to reunite with her daemon and recover her creativity becomes the central struggle in a wider conflict with an oppressive regime which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to quell autonomy of thought, originality and expression: all the personal, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The book begins with the unveiling of a set of strange fissures in the makeup of the planet's atmosphere: portals that seem to give on to different dimensions. One such window appears to be the source of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its helm, designates these portals as a threat to the religion's orthodoxy and aims to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to move from strict rationalism and revert to intuition, however, her conviction that these sites must be preserved – that their significance and what they provide is in some way crucial – grows. "Dust, or the extract, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we call it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a Blakean tussle between purity and experience is established.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
