Things are unraveling in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the second of the author's grand trilogies set in a world that seems, in this volume especially, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reassembling themselves along new and troubling lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from authorities, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the hands of mobs. "An element is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were secure and durable are weakening and failing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Just what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that animates The Rose Field, which continues where the previous book ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's last foray into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting realm he first revealed three decades past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose geography maps on to that of our world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and reason and act like us, but are joined by daemons, essences in beast form; where the heavens are filled with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, transports are taken and beverages is consumed, and older academics carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the first volume, the origin story with which the author began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still clearly the prickly and tenacious protagonist of the prior volumes, but older, more sorrowful, more cautious, less certain. This restraint is amplified by her split from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to leave in search of that childlike part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an quality which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which followed Lyra undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with wonder and peril on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the faith's governing authority, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of rigid, bureaucratic wickedness – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's uncle, who faults her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the office of head of the church's governing body, and is intent on using his fresh influence to extend the church's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who carried baby the heroine to security along a overflowing river as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a additional duty in spycraft: he is assigned to Geneva to learn more about his plans. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and costly essential oil which manifests in some way to be the source of a social and economic disturbance spreading out from that area. The extract is regarded by some as a tradeable commodity, by alternate groups as a research-based or esoteric miracle, and by further factions – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a origin of malevolence; an affront that must be destroyed. The question of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be removed or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's actions, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inextricably linked with the future of the world
In its predecessor, these narratives ran mostly in side by side. In the conclusion, they converge. As in His Dark Materials, the protagonist's choices and her fate are revealed to be deeply linked with the fate of the realm. Her private quest to reconnect with her daemon and rediscover her vision becomes the central struggle in a broader battle with an controlling system which, as such authorities typically do, is striving to quell independence of thought, creativity and expression: all the personal, defiant ways in which humans can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The book begins with the finding of a set of unusual cracks in the structure of the Earth's sky: windows that appear to open into other worlds. An example of a opening appears to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with its leader at its helm, designates these portals as a problem to the institution's beliefs and aims to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from inflexible logic and back to feeling, yet, her conviction that these sites must be protected – that their meaning and their value is mysteriously crucial – strengthens. "Dust, or the substance, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a Blakean struggle between naivety and maturity is established.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
