Things are falling apart in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a world that appears, here more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or restructuring themselves along new and troubling lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from states, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the vaults of corporations, the hands of mobs. "Something is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and solid are faltering and failing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that animates this final volume, which resumes where the previous book ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding excursion into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating universe he first introduced 30 years ago, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose geography maps on to that of this world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the people appear and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by daemons, beings in creature form; where the skies are teeming with witches and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, transports are taken and drinks is drunk, and middle-aged scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still distinctly the sharp and determined protagonist of the previous installments, but older, sadder, warier, more doubtful. This limitation is intensified by her split from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that childlike part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an quality which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with wonder and risk on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in action, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling representation of strict, bureaucratic wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's family member, who faults her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of president of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his recently acquired influence to extend the church's control. A key character, who rescued young Lyra to refuge along a swollen Thames as an child in the first book, is now an academic with a additional duty in espionage: he is assigned to the city to discover more about his plans. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and costly essential oil which seems mysteriously to be the cause of a social and financial disturbance rippling out from that area. The extract is seen by certain groups as a marketable commodity, by different parties as a scientific or esoteric phenomenon, and by further factions – the extremist "highland figures" – as a wellspring of darkness; an insult that must be destroyed. The question of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be destroyed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Similar to His Dark Materials, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are revealed to be inseparably connected with the destiny of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran mostly in tandem. In The Rose Field, they merge. Similar to the first trilogy, her actions and her path are revealed to be inextricably linked with the future of the realm. Her private mission to rejoin with her daemon and rediscover her vision becomes the primary battleground in a larger battle with an controlling government which, as such regimes often attempt, is attempting to suppress autonomy of thought, creativity and culture: all the personal, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The story opens with the discovery of a set of curious openings in the fabric of the planet's air: windows that seem to open into other worlds. An example of a opening seems to be the point of the much debated botanical substance. The authority, with Delamare at its leadership, classifies these openings as a challenge to the religion's orthodoxy and endeavors to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to move from rigid rationalism and revert to intuition, nevertheless, her belief that these places must be protected – that their meaning and what they provide is somehow essential – increases. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or whatever we call it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a Blakean struggle between innocence and maturity is established.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
