Things are unraveling in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's masterful trilogies set in a realm that appears, here more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is draining from authorities, and gathering in the halls of religious leaders, the vaults of business empires, the control of rioters. "An element is at work, silently, gradually", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his place in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and durable are faltering and giving way."
Precisely what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that animates The Rose Field, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, by all accounts, the author's last foray into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting world he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose terrain aligns with that of the real world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, essences in beast form; where the skies are filled with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but below, vehicles are caught and beverages is drunk, and mature professors carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still clearly the prickly and persistent protagonist of the earlier books, but aged, sadder, more cautious, less certain. This restraint is heightened by her separation from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Pan's decision to go off in search of that youthful part of her which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with wonder and risk on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of strict, bureaucratic malice – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. The antagonist – our protagonist's uncle, who faults her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of head of the authority's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound power to extend the institution's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued young Lyra to security along a overflowing river as an young boy in the prequel, is now an academic with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is assigned to a key location to discover more about Delamare's aims. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and costly botanical extract which appears somehow to be the cause of a societal and financial crisis emanating out from that area. The substance is viewed by certain groups as a tradeable commodity, by others as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a origin of darkness; an challenge that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its origins, its meaning, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like His Dark Materials, our protagonist's decisions, and her future, are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the world
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in tandem. In this final book, they merge. As in the original series, her movements and her fate are unveiled to be inseparably woven with the future of the realm. Her private journey to reunite with her companion and rediscover her imagination becomes the primary struggle in a broader war with an controlling system which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to stifle freedom of reason, innovation and art: all the personal, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.
The story starts with the discovery of a series of unusual openings in the structure of the planet's air: windows that appear to open into different dimensions. An example of a opening manifests to be the origin of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its head, designates these windows as a problem to the religion's beliefs and sets out to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to move from rigid rationalism and revert to feeling, nevertheless, her conviction that these locations must be defended – that their significance and what they offer is mysteriously vital – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or whatever we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean struggle between innocence and experience is prepared.
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
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