Tings are falling apart in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that manifests, here more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is draining from governments, and gathering in the offices of religious leaders, the vaults of business empires, the grasp of rioters. "An element is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and solid are faltering and failing."
The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path
Just what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels the concluding book, which resumes where the previous book ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final excursion into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting universe he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a world whose terrain aligns with that of our world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and reason and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, beings in creature form; where the air are populated with enchantresses and gryphons, but below, transports are caught and drinks is sipped, and middle-aged academics carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still distinctly the prickly and persistent heroine of the previous installments, but older, melancholic, warier, less certain. This restraint is heightened by her split from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to depart in quest of that youthful part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an trait which he represents as her "creativity"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed Lyra undertake a wandering journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and risk on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in play, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of strict, bureaucratic malice – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's uncle, who blames her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the office of president of the Magisterium's governing body, and is intent on using his newfound authority to extend the institution's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who saved baby Lyra to security along a overflowing Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in spycraft: he is dispatched to the city to learn more about his intentions. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and costly essential oil which appears mysteriously to be the origin of a social and financial disturbance spreading out from Central Asia. The extract is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable good, by others as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by others still – the extremist "highland figures" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be destroyed. The question of its origins, its meaning, and whether it should be removed or protected is becoming urgent.
Like the first series, our protagonist's decisions, and her fate, are revealed to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the world
In its predecessor, these narratives ran broadly in parallel. In The Rose Field, they merge. As in His Dark Materials, the protagonist's choices and her fate are revealed to be deeply entwined with the fate of the universe. Her individual journey to reconnect with her companion and regain her imagination becomes the primary conflict in a broader conflict with an controlling government which, as such authorities always have, is striving to quell freedom of thought, innovation and expression: all the personal, resistant ways in which humans can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The story opens with the discovery of a series of unusual openings in the structure of the world's air: portals that seem to give on to alternate realities. One such portal manifests to be the point of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its helm, classifies these windows as a challenge to the institution's doctrine and endeavors to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from rigid reason and revert to feeling, nevertheless, her conviction that these places must be defended – that their significance and what they provide is somehow vital – increases. "Dust, or the substance, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or whatever we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a philosophical tussle between naivety and maturity is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
