Things are collapsing in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that manifests, in this volume especially, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is draining from states, and pooling in the chambers of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the hands of crowds. "Something is at work, very quietly, gradually", says trader a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and solid are faltering and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that propels the concluding book, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, reportedly, the author's last excursion into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling world he first revealed 30 years ago, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose landscape aligns with that of the real world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and think and behave like us, but are paired by daemons, souls in beast form; where the heavens are populated with sorceresses and gryphons, but below, vehicles are taken and beverages is consumed, and mature academics carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still recognisably the sharp and determined main character of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, more careful, less sure. This limitation is amplified by her separation from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to go off in quest of that childlike part of her which she may have forgotten (an trait which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a wandering voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and danger on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the religious ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie incarnation of strict, procedural evil – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's relative, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the role of leader of the Magisterium's High Council, and is intent on using his recently acquired power to expand the religion's control. Malcolm Polstead, who carried baby Lyra to refuge along a overflowing river as an young boy in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is assigned to the city to learn more about his plans. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and precious rose oil which seems mysteriously to be the source of a social and financial crisis emanating out from that area. The substance is seen by various factions as a tradeable good, by others as a research-based or spiritual phenomenon, and by others still – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an insult that must be obliterated. The question of its source, its meaning, and whether it should be removed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the first series, our protagonist's decisions, and her fate, are demonstrated to be deeply connected with the destiny of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran broadly in tandem. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the first trilogy, the protagonist's choices and her destiny are shown to be deeply entwined with the future of the universe. Her personal mission to reunite with her daemon and regain her creativity becomes the key battleground in a broader conflict with an authoritarian government which, as these systems typically do, is attempting to quell independence of thought, innovation and expression: all the internal, rebellious ways in which individuals can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The novel begins with the finding of a set of unusual openings in the makeup of the planet's air: windows that look to open into other worlds. An example of a window appears to be the origin of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The authority, with the antagonist at its leadership, labels these portals as a threat to the church's doctrine and aims to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to shift from strict logic and back to intuition, nevertheless, her certainty that these locations must be protected – that their meaning and what they offer is mysteriously essential – grows. "The substance, or the extract, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean conflict between innocence and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
