Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that manifests, now more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting 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 draining from states, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the vaults of conglomerates, the grasp of rioters. "Some force is at work, silently, gradually", says merchant a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and strong are faltering and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Just what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that propels the concluding book, which resumes where its predecessor left off. This is, according to many, Pullman's final excursion into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting realm he first introduced three decades past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a world whose geography aligns with that of the real world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and think and behave like us, but are joined by daemons, beings in animal form; where the heavens are teeming with witches and gryphons, but below, transports are ridden and beverages is drunk, and older scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the sharp and persistent protagonist of the prior volumes, but older, more sorrowful, warier, more doubtful. This restraint is amplified by her separation from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
The daemon's resolve to depart in search of that innocent part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a picaresque voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and danger on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the religious controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling representation of austere, procedural malice – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. The antagonist – Lyra's family member, who blames her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the office of president of the church's ruling assembly, and is set on using his fresh authority to extend the religion's control. Malcolm Polstead, who carried baby the heroine to refuge along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in spycraft: he is assigned to Geneva to learn more about the antagonist's intentions. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and precious essential oil which manifests mysteriously to be the origin of a social and financial upheaval spreading out from that area. The extract is regarded by various factions as a marketable product, by others as a scientific or mystical phenomenon, and by yet others – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a origin of evil; an affront that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its origins, its meaning, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is becoming urgent.
Like the original trilogy, Lyra's actions, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inextricably connected with the destiny of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran mostly in parallel. In The Rose Field, they converge. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's choices and her fate are revealed to be deeply entwined with the future of the universe. Her private journey to reunite with her daemon and rediscover her imagination becomes the primary battleground in a wider battle with an controlling government which, as such authorities typically do, is striving to suppress freedom of thinking, originality and art: all the personal, rebellious ways in which humans can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The story begins with the finding of a set of strange openings in the fabric of the planet's sky: portals that seem to lead to different dimensions. An example of a window seems to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its leadership, classifies these openings as a challenge to the institution's doctrine and sets out to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to shift from rigid logic and return to intuition, however, her belief that these places must be defended – that their meaning and what they provide is somehow vital – grows. "The substance, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or no matter what we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a Blakean conflict between purity and maturity is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
