The Rose Fields by Philip Pullman

Philip Pullman’s The Rose Field brings The Book of Dust trilogy to a close with ambition, urgency and a clear determination to engage adult readers as seriously as he once engaged the young. Picking up immediately after The Secret Commonwealth, the novel follows Lyra Silvertongue as she continues her search for Pan, moving through a world that feels more fractured, politicised and spiritually exhausted than the Oxford of her childhood. Parallel to her journey is that of Malcolm Polstead, whose pursuit of Lyra draws him into the same widening web of ideological conflict, moral danger and metaphysical uncertainty.

The story carries its characters eastward, towards the desert of Karamakan and the enigmatic rose field said to hold profound truths about Dust. As forces converge on the mysterious red building at the heart of the desert, Pullman layers espionage, theology, science and folklore into a narrative that is both propulsive and densely packed. The plot resists tidy resolution, favouring accumulation over closure, and readers are asked to move through a succession of encounters, discoveries and reversals that mirror the characters’ own sense of disorientation. While the scale is undeniably epic, the emotional stakes remain rooted in Lyra’s internal struggle to recover imagination, connection and trust in the world.

Lyra emerges here as a notably altered figure. No longer the instinctive, luminous child of His Dark Materials, she is burdened by doubt, intellectual rigidity and emotional fatigue. Pullman treats this transformation seriously, presenting adulthood not as a triumph of reason but as a narrowing that must be resisted. Malcolm, by contrast, is defined by movement and action, often operating on the margins of Lyra’s story. His role is complex and occasionally uneasy, yet he provides a counterpoint to Lyra’s inwardness, embodying persistence and loyalty even when the purpose of his quest becomes uncertain.

The Rose Field is deeply concerned with imagination as a moral and spiritual faculty. Pullman positions imagination as a means of ethical engagement with others and with the natural world rather than escapism. This concern is entwined with an explicit critique of systems that reduce human value to utility or profit, and with anxieties about environmental destruction, authoritarian power and cultural disconnection. At times these ideas are delivered with blunt force, but they are consistent with Pullman’s lifelong project of using fantasy to interrogate real-world structures.

Pullman’s assured prose and gift for striking images are, once again, on show in The Rose Fields. Scenes of desert landscapes, daemonic unease and strange new beings are vividly realised, even when their narrative purpose feels a bit tangential. The abundance of characters and subplots can create a sense of excess, and some threads are left frustratingly unresolved, yet this sprawl reflects the book’s refusal to offer anything like a comfortable explanation.

As a conclusion to The Book of Dust, The Rose Field is challenging, uneven and undeniably ambitious. It may frustrate readers seeking narrative neatness or definitive answers, but it stands as a serious attempt to reckon with what Lyra’s world, and our own, looks like when innocence is gone and certainty has eroded. In its restlessness and moral urgency, it confirms Pullman’s continuing willingness to test the boundaries of fantasy as a form capable of grappling with adult complexity. Definitely worth reading the previous books in the series to fully grasp the narrative.

Reviewer: Chris Reed

Knopf