Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of the author's masterful trilogies set in a universe that seems, now more than ever, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along new and troubling lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from states, and accumulating in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the control of crowds. "An element is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and strong are deteriorating and failing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that drives the concluding book, which picks up where its predecessor concluded. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding excursion into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting realm he first revealed three decades past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose geography corresponds to that of the real world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the people look and think and act like us, but are joined by daemons, beings in beast form; where the heavens are filled with enchantresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, buses are caught and tea is consumed, and older scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the first volume, the introductory book with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still clearly the prickly and persistent main character of the prior volumes, but more mature, more sorrowful, warier, less certain. This circumscription is heightened by her split from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to depart in search of that childlike part of her which she appears to have shed (an quality which he represents as her "creativity"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with marvel and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the church's ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of strict, bureaucratic wickedness – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. The antagonist – our protagonist's relative, who blames her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of head of the authority's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound influence to broaden the institution's dominium. A key character, who carried young Lyra to safety along a swollen Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a sideline in espionage: he is assigned to the city to find out more about Delamare's plans. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and valuable rose oil which seems somehow to be the source of a social and financial crisis emanating out from Central Asia. The oil is regarded by various factions as a commercial commodity, by alternate groups as a research-based or esoteric wonder, and by further factions – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a origin of malevolence; an challenge that must be obliterated. The issue of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be destroyed or protected is escalating in importance.
Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's decisions, and her destiny, are shown to be inseparably connected with the future of the realm
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they come together. Similar to the first trilogy, the protagonist's movements and her path are unveiled to be deeply linked with the future of the realm. Her personal quest to reunite with her companion and recover her creativity becomes the primary struggle in a broader war with an controlling government which, as such authorities always have, is attempting to quell freedom of thought, innovation and expression: all the internal, defiant ways in which people can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The novel starts with the finding of a collection of unusual fissures in the makeup of the world's air: gateways that look to give on to alternate realities. A particular window appears to be the source of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its helm, designates these windows as a challenge to the church's doctrine and endeavors to destroy them. As the heroine begins to move from rigid rationalism and return to intuition, yet, her certainty that these sites must be defended – that their meaning and their value is somehow crucial – grows. "Dust, or the extract, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a Blakean conflict between purity and experience is established.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
