Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a world that appears, in this volume especially, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Organizations are failing, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from states, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the vaults of conglomerates, the hands of crowds. "Some force is at work, stealthily, gradually", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and solid are faltering and giving way."
Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that propels The Rose Field, which resumes where its predecessor ended. This is, according to many, the author's concluding venture into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting world he first revealed in the distant past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose landscape corresponds to that of our world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the humans appear and reason and act like us, but are joined by external spirits, beings in animal form; where the heavens are populated with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but below, transports are caught and tea is sipped, and older academics carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the spiky and tenacious protagonist of the previous installments, but aged, sadder, more careful, less certain. This restraint is heightened by her division from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to go off in quest of that innocent part of her which she appears to have shed (an quality which he represents as her "creativity"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and risk on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in action, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie embodiment of strict, procedural wickedness – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of head of the authority's governing body, and is set on using his newfound power to expand the church's control. A key character, who rescued baby Lyra to safety along a overflowing Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is assigned to a key location to discover more about the antagonist's aims. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and costly botanical extract which appears in some way to be the origin of a societal and economic crisis emanating out from Central Asia. The extract is regarded by some as a commercial commodity, by different parties as a empirical or spiritual phenomenon, and by others still – the extremist "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an insult that must be eradicated. The question of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Similar to His Dark Materials, our protagonist's decisions, and her destiny, are revealed to be inseparably entwined with the fate of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran largely in tandem. In the conclusion, they come together. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's actions and her fate are unveiled to be deeply linked with the fate of the universe. Her private quest to reunite with her companion and recover her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a wider war with an oppressive government which, as such authorities always have, is striving to suppress autonomy of thought, innovation and culture: all the internal, resistant ways in which humans can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The story opens with the unveiling of a series of strange fissures in the makeup of the world's sky: gateways that appear to give on to different dimensions. One such portal appears to be the origin of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The authority, with Delamare at its helm, classifies these portals as a problem to the church's beliefs and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to shift from inflexible logic and return to intuition, yet, her belief that these places must be defended – that their significance and their value is in some way vital – strengthens. "Dust, or the substance, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a philosophical struggle between purity and experience is established.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
