Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a world that seems, in this volume especially, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reassembling themselves along new and troubling lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from states, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the grasp of crowds. "An element is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his place in an city cafe. "Things we thought were secure and strong are faltering and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that animates this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding venture into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting universe he first unveiled in the distant past, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose geography corresponds to that of our world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans look and reason and act like us, but are joined by daemons, souls in creature form; where the skies are populated with witches and legendary creatures, but underneath, buses are taken and tea is consumed, and middle-aged professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still recognisably the prickly and persistent heroine of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, more cautious, less certain. This restraint is heightened by her separation from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to leave in pursuit of that childlike part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a picaresque trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with amazement and risk on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in motion, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the church's controlling power, and the author's brilliantly sinister embodiment of austere, procedural wickedness – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's family member, who blames her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of leader of the church's governing body, and is determined on using his fresh authority to extend the church's control. A key character, who saved young Lyra to refuge along a swollen river as an young boy in the first book, is now an academic with a secondary role in espionage: he is dispatched to Geneva to discover more about Delamare's intentions. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and valuable botanical extract which seems mysteriously to be the source of a social and financial upheaval spreading out from Central Asia. The extract is viewed by some as a tradeable product, by alternate groups as a empirical or esoteric wonder, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be obliterated. The question of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be destroyed or protected is becoming urgent.
Similar to the first series, Lyra's actions, and her destiny, are shown to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the realm
In the previous volume, these narratives ran broadly in side by side. In The Rose Field, they merge. As in the original series, the protagonist's choices and her path are unveiled to be inextricably entwined with the future of the realm. Her private quest to reconnect with her daemon and rediscover her imagination becomes the central battleground in a larger battle with an authoritarian system which, as these systems typically do, is seeking to suppress freedom of reason, originality and culture: all the personal, rebellious ways in which people can be free.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The book opens with the unveiling of a collection of curious openings in the fabric of the planet's air: gateways that appear to give on to other worlds. An example of a portal appears to be the source of the highly contested botanical substance. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its leadership, classifies these openings as a challenge to the religion's doctrine and sets out to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to move from strict rationalism and return to instinct, nevertheless, her conviction that these places must be defended – that their meaning and what they provide is mysteriously essential – increases. "The substance, or the extract, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a Blakean conflict between purity and knowledge is set.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
