Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's masterful trilogies set in a world that manifests, in this volume especially, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along new and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from authorities, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the vaults of corporations, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, gradually", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were firm and solid are weakening and failing."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Just what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that animates The Rose Field, which picks up where its predecessor ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's concluding foray into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting world he first introduced 30 years ago, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose landscape maps on to that of our world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the people appear and reason and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, beings in animal form; where the air are teeming with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, buses are caught and drinks is drunk, and middle-aged scholars carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still recognisably the spiky and persistent protagonist of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, more cautious, more doubtful. This circumscription is heightened by her separation from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that youthful part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an quality which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with wonder and danger on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the religious controlling power, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister incarnation of austere, bureaucratic wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's uncle, who blames her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the position of president of the authority's governing body, and is set on using his recently acquired power to expand the church's dominium. A key character, who saved infant the heroine to refuge along a flooded river as an child in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is sent to a key location to learn more about Delamare's plans. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and valuable essential oil which manifests somehow to be the cause of a social and economic upheaval spreading out from that area. The oil is viewed by certain groups as a tradeable product, by alternate groups as a empirical or esoteric wonder, and by others still – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be eradicated. The question of its source, what it stands for, and if it should be eliminated or protected is becoming urgent.
Like the first series, the heroine's actions, and her fate, are shown to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran broadly in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. Like the first trilogy, the protagonist's actions and her path are revealed to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the realm. Her private quest to reconnect with her companion and recover her creativity becomes the key battleground in a larger war with an oppressive regime which, as these systems always have, is striving to stifle freedom of thinking, creativity and expression: all the personal, defiant ways in which people can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The book opens with the finding of a collection of curious openings in the fabric of the planet's air: gateways that look to lead to other worlds. An example of a portal manifests to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The authority, with its leader at its head, labels these openings as a problem to the institution's beliefs and sets out to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to shift from inflexible logic and back to instinct, nevertheless, her certainty that these sites must be protected – that their significance and what they provide is somehow vital – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a Blakean conflict between innocence and knowledge is established.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
