Things are falling apart in the last installment of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that appears, here more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from states, and pooling in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of corporations, the grasp of mobs. "Some force is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and durable are deteriorating and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Just what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that drives this final volume, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final foray into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating world he first introduced in the distant past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose geography corresponds to that of our world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and think and act like us, but are joined by animal souls, souls in beast form; where the heavens are populated with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, transports are ridden and tea is drunk, and older scholars carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a child in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still clearly the sharp and determined protagonist of the previous installments, but aged, melancholic, more cautious, less sure. This limitation is amplified by her division from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to leave in pursuit of that innocent part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he represents as her "vision"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with amazement and risk on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in action, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the faith's governing authority, and the author's masterfully eerie incarnation of strict, procedural malice – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's family member, who blames her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the position of head of the church's governing body, and is intent on using his recently acquired authority to expand the church's control. Another protagonist, who rescued infant Lyra to security along a flooded river as an young boy in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is dispatched to the city to learn more about his aims. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and valuable rose oil which manifests mysteriously to be the cause of a social and economic disturbance rippling out from that area. The oil is viewed by some as a commercial commodity, by alternate groups as a empirical or mystical phenomenon, and by further factions – the zealous "highland figures" – as a origin of malevolence; an affront that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its source, what it stands for, and if it should be eliminated or preserved is escalating in importance.
Like the original trilogy, Lyra's deeds, and her future, are demonstrated to be inextricably connected with the destiny of the realm
In the previous volume, these storylines ran mostly in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. Similar to His Dark Materials, the protagonist's actions and her fate are unveiled to be inextricably woven with the destiny of the universe. Her private quest to rejoin with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the central struggle in a wider conflict with an authoritarian regime which, as such regimes always have, is attempting to stifle freedom of thinking, originality and expression: all the inner, defiant ways in which individuals can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The story opens with the finding of a collection of curious openings in the fabric of the world's atmosphere: gateways that look to lead to different dimensions. An example of a portal seems to be the source of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its helm, classifies these openings as a challenge to the church's orthodoxy and sets out to destroy them. As Lyra begins to shift from rigid reason and return to feeling, however, her certainty that these sites must be preserved – that what they stand for and their value is somehow vital – increases. "The substance, or the substance, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a Blakean tussle between naivety and experience is established.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
