Things are unraveling in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a world that appears, here more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from authorities, and gathering in the chambers of religious leaders, the coffers of business empires, the grasp of rioters. "An element is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and solid are faltering and giving way."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that drives The Rose Field, which continues where the previous book concluded. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final venture into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting universe he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a world whose landscape corresponds to that of the real world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the people appear and reason and behave like us, but are joined by animal souls, beings in beast form; where the skies are filled with witches and mythical beasts, but underneath, vehicles are ridden and beverages is consumed, and older scholars carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still clearly the prickly and determined main character of the previous installments, but older, sadder, more cautious, less certain. This restraint is intensified by her split from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
His choice to leave in quest of that childlike part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an quality which he represents as her "creativity"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with wonder and peril on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of strict, administrative evil – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's uncle, who faults her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the position of head of the church's High Council, and is determined on using his fresh power to broaden the institution's control. Another protagonist, who rescued infant the heroine to security along a overflowing Thames as an child in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in espionage: he is dispatched to a key location to find out more about the antagonist's intentions. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and costly essential oil which seems somehow to be the source of a social and economic crisis spreading out from the region. The substance is viewed by various factions as a commercial product, by different parties as a research-based or esoteric wonder, and by yet others – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an insult that must be eradicated. The question of where it comes from, its significance, and whether it should be eliminated or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the original trilogy, Lyra's deeds, and her destiny, are shown to be inseparably entwined with the destiny of the universe
In the previous volume, these storylines ran largely in parallel. In this final book, they merge. As in His Dark Materials, the protagonist's actions and her fate are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the fate of the realm. Her individual quest to reconnect with her companion and rediscover her imagination becomes the primary battleground in a larger conflict with an authoritarian government which, as these systems typically do, is seeking to suppress freedom of thinking, creativity and art: all the internal, resistant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The book starts with the discovery of a set of curious cracks in the makeup of the planet's sky: windows that look to give on to different dimensions. An example of a opening appears to be the point of the much debated botanical substance. The authority, with the antagonist at its helm, labels these windows as a challenge to the institution's beliefs and endeavors to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to move from strict logic and back to instinct, however, her conviction that these locations must be preserved – that their significance and what they offer is in some way essential – strengthens. "Dust, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a poetic tussle between naivety and knowledge is established.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
