Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a universe that appears, now more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from states, and accumulating in the chambers of religious leaders, the vaults of business empires, the grasp of mobs. "Some force is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and durable are deteriorating and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that animates The Rose Field, which picks up where the previous book left off. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's concluding excursion into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating realm he first introduced three decades past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a world whose landscape aligns with that of this world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the humans appear and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, souls in beast form; where the heavens are teeming with enchantresses and gryphons, but underneath, buses are taken and tea is sipped, and mature professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the prequel, the introductory book with which the author began this trilogy, is now a adult: still recognisably the sharp and determined main character of the prior volumes, but more mature, melancholic, more careful, less sure. This restraint is intensified by her split from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to leave in quest of that youthful part of her which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with wonder and peril on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the religious ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie incarnation of strict, administrative wickedness – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's family member, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of head of the Magisterium's governing body, and is determined on using his newfound influence to extend the religion's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued young Lyra to security along a overflowing river as an young boy in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is dispatched to the city to learn more about Delamare's intentions. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and precious essential oil which appears mysteriously to be the source of a social and economic crisis spreading out from the region. The substance is viewed by some as a marketable commodity, by others as a research-based or spiritual phenomenon, and by others still – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a origin of darkness; an challenge that must be destroyed. The question of where it comes from, its significance, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in His Dark Materials, the heroine's decisions, and her future, are revealed to be deeply connected with the future of the realm
In its predecessor, these storylines ran mostly in parallel. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the original series, Lyra's choices and her path are shown to be inextricably woven with the fate of the universe. Her private quest to reconnect with her daemon and regain her vision becomes the central conflict in a broader conflict with an oppressive government which, as these systems typically do, is seeking to stifle independence of thought, creativity and expression: all the internal, defiant ways in which individuals can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The story begins with the finding of a series of curious openings in the structure of the planet's sky: portals that seem to open into other worlds. A particular portal seems to be the source of the much debated botanical substance. The church, with the antagonist at its leadership, classifies these openings as a threat to the church's orthodoxy and sets out to destroy them. As Lyra begins to turn away from rigid logic and back to instinct, yet, her belief that these sites must be protected – that their significance and what they provide is in some way crucial – increases. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a poetic struggle between purity and maturity is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
