Things are unraveling in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a universe that appears, now more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from authorities, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the treasuries of corporations, the hands of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and solid are weakening and giving way."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that propels this final volume, which continues where the previous book left off. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final excursion into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating realm he first revealed 30 years ago, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose geography aligns with that of the real world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans appear and reason and act like us, but are paired by external spirits, essences in beast form; where the air are filled with witches and legendary creatures, but underneath, vehicles are ridden and tea is sipped, and mature academics carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a young woman: still recognisably the sharp and determined heroine of the earlier books, but older, more sorrowful, more cautious, more doubtful. This circumscription is amplified by her split from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to leave in search of that innocent part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which followed Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with marvel and risk on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of austere, bureaucratic wickedness – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. The antagonist – Lyra's relative, who blames her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of head of the church's ruling assembly, and is set on using his recently acquired influence to extend the church's rule. A key character, who carried baby the heroine to security along a overflowing Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is sent to the city to find out more about the antagonist's aims. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and precious essential oil which seems somehow to be the origin of a social and financial disturbance spreading out from Central Asia. The oil is viewed by some as a tradeable good, by different parties as a empirical or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the extremist "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of darkness; an challenge that must be obliterated. The question of its origins, what it stands for, and whether it should be eliminated or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the original trilogy, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are demonstrated to be deeply entwined with the future of the world
In the previous volume, these storylines ran largely in tandem. In The Rose Field, they come together. Similar to His Dark Materials, her actions and her fate are shown to be deeply linked with the fate of the world. Her personal mission to reconnect with her companion and rediscover her creativity becomes the central struggle in a wider battle with an oppressive system which, as such authorities always have, is seeking to suppress freedom of thinking, originality and expression: all the personal, resistant ways in which humans can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The book begins with the finding of a series of unusual cracks in the fabric of the Earth's air: windows that appear to lead to other worlds. An example of a opening appears to be the origin of the highly contested botanical substance. The church, with the antagonist at its leadership, labels these openings as a threat to the institution's orthodoxy and sets out to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to move from inflexible reason and back to intuition, however, her conviction that these places must be protected – that their meaning and what they offer is mysteriously crucial – grows. "The substance, or the substance, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or whatever we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean tussle between naivety and knowledge is set.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
