Tings are falling apart in the last installment of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a universe that appears, here more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from authorities, and gathering in the offices of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the control of mobs. "Something is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were stable and durable are faltering and giving way."
Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that animates The Rose Field, which resumes where its predecessor ended. This is, according to many, the author's last excursion into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling universe he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose terrain maps on to that of the real world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans appear and reason and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, essences in animal form; where the air are teeming with enchantresses and gryphons, but below, buses are taken and beverages is sipped, and mature professors carry luxury 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 La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the prickly and persistent main character of the prior volumes, but aged, more sorrowful, more cautious, less sure. This restraint is heightened by her separation from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to go off in pursuit of that innocent part of her which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and danger 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 brilliantly sinister representation of rigid, administrative wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's family member, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the role of head of the authority's ruling assembly, and is set on using his newfound influence to broaden the church's rule. A key character, who saved infant the heroine to refuge along a flooded river as an young boy in the first book, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in espionage: he is assigned to Geneva to learn more about Delamare's intentions. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and costly essential oil which manifests somehow to be the source of a social and economic disturbance emanating out from the region. The oil is seen by various factions as a commercial commodity, by alternate groups as a research-based or esoteric miracle, and by yet others – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a origin of malevolence; an affront that must be obliterated. The question of where it comes from, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
Similar to the original trilogy, the heroine's deeds, and her destiny, are revealed to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the world
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in tandem. In this final book, they converge. Like the original series, the protagonist's choices and her fate are unveiled to be inseparably woven with the future of the realm. Her private journey to reunite with her companion and recover her vision becomes the primary battleground in a larger conflict with an authoritarian government which, as such authorities typically do, is seeking to suppress freedom of thinking, innovation and art: all the inner, defiant ways in which people can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The story begins with the unveiling of a series of unusual cracks in the fabric of the Earth's sky: gateways that seem to give on to other worlds. One such opening manifests to be the source of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The church, with the antagonist at its leadership, classifies these openings as a threat to the church's orthodoxy and sets out to destroy them. As the heroine begins to turn away from inflexible reason and return to instinct, however, her belief that these sites must be preserved – that what they stand for and what they offer is in some way crucial – increases. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a philosophical struggle between innocence and knowledge is established.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
