Tings are falling apart in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that appears, here more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from authorities, and pooling in the chambers of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the control of crowds. "Some force is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were secure and strong are weakening and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that drives The Rose Field, which picks up where the previous book left off. This is, reportedly, the author's concluding venture into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling universe he first introduced 30 years ago, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose terrain corresponds to that of this world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans look and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, souls in animal form; where the skies are filled with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, vehicles are ridden and beverages is drunk, and mature scholars carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a child in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began the series, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the sharp and persistent heroine of the prior volumes, but more mature, more sorrowful, more careful, less sure. This restraint is amplified by her separation from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to go off in quest of that youthful part of her which she appears to have shed (an quality which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and danger on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's masterfully eerie embodiment of rigid, procedural wickedness – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – our protagonist's family member, who blames her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the position of head of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is set on using his recently acquired influence to extend the institution's control. Malcolm Polstead, who carried young Lyra to safety along a flooded Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in espionage: he is sent to Geneva to discover more about the antagonist's intentions. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and precious botanical extract which seems mysteriously to be the cause of a social and financial crisis emanating out from Central Asia. The oil is seen by various factions as a marketable good, by different parties as a scientific or mystical miracle, and by further factions – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a origin of malevolence; an affront that must be destroyed. The issue of where it comes from, its meaning, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is escalating in importance.
As in the original trilogy, Lyra's decisions, and her future, are revealed to be inseparably linked with the future of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran mostly in tandem. In the conclusion, they come together. Like the first trilogy, the protagonist's movements and her path are shown to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the world. Her personal mission to reconnect with her daemon and regain her imagination becomes the primary conflict in a wider war with an authoritarian system which, as such authorities typically do, is striving to stifle freedom of thought, innovation and expression: all the internal, resistant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The story starts with the unveiling of a collection of curious fissures in the makeup of the planet's air: portals that seem to lead to alternate realities. A particular opening appears to be the source of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its leadership, designates these portals as a threat to the institution's beliefs and sets out to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from rigid reason and revert to instinct, nevertheless, her conviction that these sites must be preserved – that what they stand for and what they provide is in some way crucial – increases. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or whatever we call it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a Blakean tussle between purity and knowledge is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
