Tings are unraveling in the last installment of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that manifests, now more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from governments, and pooling in the chambers of theocrats, the vaults of business empires, the grasp of mobs. "An element is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and solid are deteriorating and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Precisely what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that animates this final volume, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final excursion into the elaborately built, deeply captivating world he first unveiled in the distant past, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a world whose geography aligns with that of this world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and reason and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, beings in beast form; where the skies are populated with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, transports are taken and beverages is consumed, and middle-aged academics carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began the series, is now a adult: still recognisably the spiky and persistent main character of the earlier books, but more mature, sadder, warier, more doubtful. This restraint is intensified by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to depart in search of that youthful part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an trait which he represents as her "vision"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous journey across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with wonder and risk on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in motion, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the religious controlling power, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister incarnation of rigid, procedural malice – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's relative, who faults her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the position of head of the church's High Council, and is set on using his newfound authority to broaden the church's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who carried infant the heroine to refuge along a overflowing Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in espionage: he is dispatched to a key location to learn more about Delamare's aims. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and costly rose oil which appears somehow to be the source of a societal and financial upheaval emanating out from that area. The oil is seen by some as a tradeable good, by others as a empirical or spiritual phenomenon, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a wellspring of evil; an challenge that must be eradicated. The dilemma of where it comes from, its meaning, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
As in the first series, our protagonist's actions, and her future, are revealed to be inextricably linked with the future of the universe
In the previous volume, these plots ran mostly in tandem. In this final book, they come together. Like His Dark Materials, her actions and her fate are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the fate of the world. Her personal quest to reunite with her daemon and recover her vision becomes the key conflict in a larger battle with an authoritarian regime which, as such regimes always have, is seeking to suppress freedom of thought, creativity and art: all the internal, rebellious ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The story starts with the discovery of a collection of unusual openings in the structure of the planet's sky: portals that look to give on to alternate realities. An example of a opening seems to be the point of the highly contested botanical substance. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its leadership, labels these portals as a challenge to the religion's doctrine and aims to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to move from strict reason and back to feeling, nevertheless, her certainty that these sites must be protected – that what they stand for and what they provide is mysteriously essential – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a Blakean struggle between naivety and experience is prepared.
Story Tempo and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
