Things are unraveling in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a universe that seems, here more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along new and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from states, and accumulating in the halls of religious leaders, the treasuries of corporations, the grasp of crowds. "An element is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says trader a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his place in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and durable are weakening and giving way."
Precisely what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that propels The Rose Field, which picks up where the previous book left off. This is, reportedly, the author's last venture into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting universe he first revealed in the distant past, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose terrain aligns with that of the real world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the humans look and reason and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, souls in animal form; where the air are populated with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but below, vehicles are caught and beverages is drunk, and middle-aged professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the prequel, the origin story with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the spiky and tenacious main character of the previous installments, but older, more sorrowful, more cautious, less certain. This restraint is intensified by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Pan's decision to leave in quest of that childlike part of Lyra 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 chronicled Lyra undertake a wandering voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with wonder and risk on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in motion, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the church's ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie embodiment of austere, administrative evil – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's uncle, who faults her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the position of president of the authority's governing body, and is set on using his fresh power to expand the church's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued infant Lyra to safety along a flooded Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in spycraft: he is dispatched to a key location to find out more about Delamare's intentions. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and valuable rose oil which appears in some way to be the source of a social and economic crisis rippling out from that area. The extract is seen by certain groups as a commercial product, by others as a scientific or esoteric phenomenon, and by others still – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be eradicated. The dilemma of where it comes from, its meaning, and whether it should be eliminated or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Like His Dark Materials, Lyra's decisions, and her fate, are shown to be deeply connected with the fate of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran mostly in side by side. In The Rose Field, they come together. Similar to the original series, Lyra's movements and her fate are unveiled to be deeply linked with the fate of the realm. Her personal quest to reunite with her soul and recover her imagination becomes the key struggle in a broader battle with an controlling government which, as such regimes always have, is attempting to quell autonomy of thought, creativity and culture: all the internal, defiant ways in which humans can be independent.
The novel begins with the finding of a collection of curious openings in the makeup of the Earth's atmosphere: windows that look to open into alternate realities. One such window manifests to be the origin of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The authority, with its leader at its leadership, designates these openings as a challenge to the church's doctrine and sets out to destroy them. As Lyra begins to shift from rigid reason and return to intuition, nevertheless, her conviction that these locations must be defended – that their significance and their value is mysteriously crucial – increases. "The substance, or the substance, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or whatever we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a philosophical conflict between naivety and experience is prepared.
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
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