Things are unraveling in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of the author's masterful trilogies set in a realm that manifests, in this volume especially, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along new and troubling lines. An invisible force "is destroying 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 halls of religious leaders, the vaults of corporations, the control of crowds. "Some force is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and strong are weakening and giving way."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that animates the concluding book, which continues where the previous book left off. This is, according to many, Pullman's final foray into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting realm he first unveiled in the distant past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose geography aligns with that of the real world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the people appear and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, beings in animal form; where the heavens are populated with witches and gryphons, but below, vehicles are ridden and tea is sipped, and older professors carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still recognisably the prickly and persistent protagonist of the earlier books, but more mature, more sorrowful, more cautious, less sure. This circumscription is intensified by her division from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to leave in quest of that childlike part of her which she appears to have shed (an quality which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which followed Lyra undertake a picaresque trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with amazement and risk on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in motion, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister incarnation of austere, bureaucratic wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's family member, who blames her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the office of head of the church's ruling assembly, and is set on using his newfound influence to extend the church's dominium. A key character, who rescued baby the heroine to refuge along a overflowing river as an child in the first book, is now an university scholar with a sideline in espionage: he is assigned to the city to find out more about the antagonist's intentions. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and precious essential oil which seems mysteriously to be the source of a societal and economic crisis rippling out from that area. The oil is regarded by certain groups as a commercial good, by different parties as a scientific or mystical miracle, and by further factions – the zealous "highland figures" – as a source of malevolence; an challenge that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its source, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or preserved is escalating in importance.
Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's decisions, and her future, are shown to be inseparably connected with the destiny of the realm
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in tandem. In The Rose Field, they converge. Similar to the original series, Lyra's choices and her fate are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the realm. Her private quest to reconnect with her companion and regain her vision becomes the central conflict in a larger war with an oppressive regime which, as such authorities always have, is striving to stifle independence of thought, originality and art: all the internal, resistant ways in which people can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The story starts with the unveiling of a set of unusual cracks in the fabric of the world's air: portals that look to lead to other worlds. A particular window manifests to be the source of the much debated rose oil. The church, with Delamare at its helm, designates these portals as a problem to the religion's doctrine and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to shift from inflexible logic and return to intuition, nevertheless, her certainty that these locations must be preserved – that what they stand for and what they offer is in some way vital – strengthens. "Dust, or the extract, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a Blakean struggle between innocence and maturity is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
