Tings are falling apart in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the next of the author's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, now more than ever, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is draining from authorities, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of business empires, the hands of rioters. "Some force is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and durable are deteriorating and failing."
Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that animates The Rose Field, which resumes where its predecessor ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's last venture into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting realm he first revealed three decades past, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose landscape maps on to that of our world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans look and think and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, souls in creature form; where the skies are populated with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but below, buses are taken and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged academics carry luxury 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 toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still clearly the prickly and determined heroine of the earlier books, but more mature, sadder, warier, less sure. This restraint is intensified by her split from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in search of that youthful part of her which she seems to have lost (an trait which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with marvel and risk on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of rigid, procedural evil – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. The antagonist – our protagonist's family member, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the role of president of the Magisterium's High Council, and is intent on using his fresh influence to extend the religion's control. A key character, who rescued infant Lyra to refuge along a flooded Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in espionage: he is dispatched to the city to learn more about the antagonist's plans. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and precious essential oil which manifests mysteriously to be the cause of a societal and economic upheaval rippling out from that area. The oil is viewed by certain groups as a marketable good, by others as a research-based or spiritual wonder, and by yet others – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of evil; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its source, what it stands for, and whether it should be eliminated or protected is becoming urgent.
Like the first series, Lyra's deeds, and her fate, are demonstrated to be inextricably connected with the destiny of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran mostly in parallel. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the first trilogy, the protagonist's choices and her path are shown to be deeply linked with the destiny of the world. Her individual journey to reconnect with her daemon and recover her vision becomes the key conflict in a larger battle with an controlling system which, as these systems typically do, is striving to suppress freedom of thought, creativity and art: all the internal, defiant ways in which people can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The story opens with the discovery of a series of curious cracks in the structure of the Earth's air: windows that seem to give on to alternate realities. A particular opening seems to be the origin of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The church, with the antagonist at its helm, classifies these openings as a challenge to the institution's beliefs and endeavors to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to move from rigid logic and return to intuition, nevertheless, her certainty that these locations must be protected – that what they stand for and what they provide is somehow crucial – grows. "The substance, or the substance, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a philosophical tussle between naivety and experience is established.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
