Tings are collapsing in the last installment of The Dust Trilogy, the second of the author's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, now more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along new and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is draining from states, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of business empires, the control of crowds. "An element is at work, very quietly, gradually", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were firm and durable are weakening and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that drives the concluding book, which picks up where the previous book left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final foray into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling world he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a world whose terrain corresponds to that of this world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the people appear and think and act like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, beings in animal form; where the skies are filled with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but below, transports are caught and drinks is consumed, and older academics carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a child in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the first volume, the prequel with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still clearly the sharp and persistent protagonist of the earlier books, but older, more sorrowful, warier, less sure. This circumscription is intensified by her separation from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that childlike part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an trait which he represents as her "vision"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with wonder and danger on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of rigid, bureaucratic evil – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's family member, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the role of leader of the Magisterium's governing body, and is intent on using his fresh influence to broaden the institution's dominium. Another protagonist, who carried infant the heroine to security along a swollen Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in espionage: he is sent to Geneva to find out more about his plans. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and precious botanical extract which appears mysteriously to be the origin of a social and financial upheaval emanating out from that area. The substance is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable good, by different parties as a research-based or mystical miracle, and by others still – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a origin of darkness; an challenge that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be removed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Similar to the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her future, are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the future of the realm
In its predecessor, these storylines ran largely in parallel. In The Rose Field, they converge. Like the first trilogy, the protagonist's actions and her fate are unveiled to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the realm. Her private quest to reunite with her daemon and regain her imagination becomes the central conflict in a broader war with an authoritarian system which, as these systems typically do, is attempting to quell independence of thinking, creativity and expression: all the internal, defiant ways in which individuals can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The book opens with the finding of a series of curious cracks in the structure of the Earth's sky: gateways that appear to lead to alternate realities. An example of a window seems to be the source of the much debated botanical substance. The Magisterium, with its leader at its leadership, classifies these portals as a problem to the church's orthodoxy and aims to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from strict logic and return to instinct, nevertheless, her conviction that these places must be protected – that what they stand for and their value is in some way crucial – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a philosophical struggle between innocence and experience is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
