Tings are collapsing in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that seems, now more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along new and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is draining from governments, and accumulating in the chambers of religious leaders, the coffers of conglomerates, the grasp of mobs. "Some force is at work, silently, gradually", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and durable are deteriorating and failing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that animates the concluding book, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, reportedly, the author's last foray into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting world he first unveiled three decades past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a world whose landscape aligns with that of this world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the people look and think and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, essences in animal form; where the skies are populated with witches and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, buses are ridden and drinks is consumed, and older academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the prequel, the introductory book with which the author began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still recognisably the spiky and persistent main character of the earlier books, but more mature, more sorrowful, more careful, less certain. This restraint is intensified by her division from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
The daemon's resolve to go off in quest of that childlike part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and peril on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in action, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of strict, administrative malice – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's uncle, who blames her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the position of president of the church's governing body, and is intent on using his recently acquired influence to extend the institution's dominium. Another protagonist, who rescued baby the heroine to security along a flooded Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in espionage: he is dispatched to the city to find out more about Delamare's intentions. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and precious botanical extract which seems in some way to be the source of a societal and financial disturbance emanating out from the region. The oil is seen by some as a marketable commodity, by different parties as a empirical or spiritual wonder, and by further factions – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a source of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its origins, its meaning, and whether it should be destroyed or preserved is escalating in importance.
As in the original trilogy, our protagonist's decisions, and her destiny, are revealed to be inseparably linked with the fate of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran largely in side by side. In this final book, they come together. Similar to the original series, her actions and her destiny are shown to be inextricably linked with the fate of the world. Her personal mission to rejoin with her soul and recover her creativity becomes the central conflict in a wider battle with an controlling government which, as such authorities often attempt, is striving to quell freedom of thought, originality and expression: all the inner, resistant ways in which individuals can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The novel starts with the discovery of a series of strange fissures in the makeup of the Earth's atmosphere: gateways that appear to open into other worlds. One such opening seems to be the origin of the much debated rose oil. The authority, with the antagonist at its leadership, labels these openings as a challenge to the institution's orthodoxy and sets out to destroy them. As the heroine begins to move from strict rationalism and return to feeling, nevertheless, her conviction that these sites must be defended – that their meaning and what they provide is mysteriously vital – grows. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a Blakean conflict between naivety and experience is established.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
