Tings are collapsing in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, in this volume especially, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or reassembling themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from states, and gathering in the halls of religious leaders, the treasuries of business empires, the grasp of rioters. "An element is at work, very quietly, gradually", says merchant a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and strong are deteriorating and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Just what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that animates The Rose Field, which picks up where its predecessor ended. This is, by all accounts, the author's last excursion into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting world he first revealed 30 years ago, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose landscape aligns with that of our world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the individuals look and think and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, essences in animal form; where the air are populated with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, transports are caught and tea is sipped, and middle-aged scholars carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the first volume, the origin story with which the author began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the spiky and tenacious main character of the previous installments, but aged, sadder, more careful, less sure. This restraint is heightened by her division from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to go off in pursuit of that childlike part of her which she may have forgotten (an quality which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with wonder and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in play, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the church's ruling body, and the author's brilliantly sinister embodiment of strict, procedural evil – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. The antagonist – Lyra's uncle, who blames her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the role of president of the authority's High Council, and is determined on using his newfound authority to broaden the religion's control. Malcolm Polstead, who saved baby the heroine to security along a overflowing Thames as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an academic with a secondary role in spycraft: he is assigned to Geneva to learn more about his intentions. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and valuable essential oil which appears somehow to be the source of a societal and financial crisis spreading out from Central Asia. The oil is viewed by some as a commercial commodity, by alternate groups as a research-based or esoteric wonder, and by others still – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a source of evil; an challenge that must be destroyed. The question of its origins, what it stands for, and whether it should be eliminated or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
As in the first series, Lyra's deeds, and her destiny, are shown to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the realm
In its predecessor, these narratives ran broadly in parallel. In the conclusion, they come together. Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's actions and her fate are unveiled to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the realm. Her individual mission to reconnect with her companion and rediscover her imagination becomes the central battleground in a larger war with an oppressive regime which, as such authorities typically do, is striving to stifle independence of thinking, creativity and culture: all the internal, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The novel begins with the finding of a series of strange cracks in the makeup of the planet's air: portals that look to give on to other worlds. One such portal manifests to be the point of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The authority, with the antagonist at its leadership, classifies these portals as a threat to the church's orthodoxy and sets out to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to move from inflexible logic and revert to feeling, however, her conviction that these places must be preserved – that their meaning and their value is somehow essential – increases. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a poetic struggle between purity and maturity is prepared.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
