Things are unraveling in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that seems, now more than ever, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from governments, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the grasp of crowds. "Something is at work, stealthily, gradually", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were secure and durable are weakening and failing."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that animates the concluding book, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding excursion into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling realm he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose terrain maps on to that of the real world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans appear and reason and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, souls in creature form; where the heavens are teeming with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but below, buses are caught and beverages is consumed, and older scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the prickly and tenacious main character of the prior volumes, but more mature, melancholic, more cautious, more doubtful. This circumscription is amplified by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to leave in search of that youthful part of her which she may have forgotten (an quality which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which saw Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with marvel and risk on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in action, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the faith's ruling body, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister representation of rigid, procedural wickedness – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the position of president of the church's High Council, and is intent on using his fresh power to expand the church's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who carried infant the heroine to security along a flooded Thames as an child in La Belle Sauvage, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is assigned to a key location to learn more about the antagonist's intentions. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and costly essential oil which seems somehow to be the source of a societal and economic crisis emanating out from the region. The oil is regarded by various factions as a marketable good, by different parties as a scientific or esoteric wonder, and by yet others – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a source of evil; an affront that must be eradicated. The question of where it comes from, what it stands for, and if it should be destroyed or preserved is becoming urgent.
Like the original trilogy, the heroine's deeds, and her future, are revealed to be deeply connected with the future of the universe
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in parallel. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the original series, the protagonist's choices and her destiny are revealed to be inextricably linked with the future of the universe. Her personal mission to rejoin with her daemon and regain her vision becomes the primary conflict in a broader conflict with an controlling government which, as such authorities often attempt, is seeking to suppress autonomy of thinking, innovation and art: all the internal, rebellious ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The story starts with the finding of a set of unusual fissures in the makeup of the world's atmosphere: windows that look to lead to other worlds. An example of a portal seems to be the source of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The church, with its leader at its helm, designates these portals as a threat to the institution's beliefs and sets out to destroy them. As Lyra begins to shift from rigid logic and revert to intuition, nevertheless, her conviction that these places must be defended – that their significance and their value is in some way essential – grows. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a poetic tussle between purity and experience is established.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
