Things are collapsing in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that seems, now more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or restructuring themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from states, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the vaults of corporations, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an city cafe. "Things we thought were secure and strong are faltering and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Just what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that drives the concluding book, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's final venture into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling realm he first introduced 30 years ago, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a world whose geography maps on to that of our world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the people appear and think and behave like us, but are joined by daemons, beings in animal form; where the air are teeming with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, vehicles are ridden and tea is consumed, and middle-aged professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still distinctly the prickly and persistent protagonist of the earlier books, but more mature, sadder, warier, less sure. This circumscription is heightened by her split from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
The daemon's resolve to leave in search of that childlike part of her which she may have forgotten (an quality which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed the protagonist undertake a wandering voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with wonder and peril on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's masterfully eerie embodiment of austere, bureaucratic malice – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's family member, who blames her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of president of the church's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound authority to broaden the church's control. Malcolm Polstead, who carried baby Lyra to refuge along a swollen Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in espionage: he is sent to a key location to discover more about his plans. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and valuable essential oil which seems in some way to be the cause of a societal and financial crisis emanating out from that area. The oil is seen by certain groups as a tradeable commodity, by alternate groups as a scientific or mystical phenomenon, and by yet others – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of darkness; an affront that must be eradicated. The question of its origins, its meaning, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the original trilogy, our protagonist's decisions, and her future, are shown to be deeply entwined with the fate of the universe
In the previous volume, these storylines ran broadly in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. Similar to the original series, Lyra's choices and her fate are shown to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the universe. Her private quest to reconnect with her soul and regain her vision becomes the central conflict in a wider conflict with an oppressive government which, as such authorities always have, is seeking to stifle autonomy of thought, creativity and culture: all the personal, resistant ways in which people can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The novel begins with the discovery of a set of unusual openings in the structure of the world's atmosphere: windows that appear to give on to different dimensions. A particular window seems to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its leadership, classifies these openings as a problem to the institution's orthodoxy and endeavors to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to move from inflexible reason and back to instinct, yet, her certainty that these sites must be protected – that their significance and their value is in some way essential – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a philosophical conflict between innocence and experience is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
