Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that appears, now more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from states, and pooling in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of business empires, the grasp of crowds. "An element is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an city cafe. "Things we thought were stable and durable are deteriorating and failing."
The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that drives this final volume, which continues where its predecessor ended. This is, by all accounts, the author's final excursion into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling universe he first revealed 30 years ago, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a world whose geography maps on to that of our world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the people look and reason and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, souls in animal form; where the air are teeming with sorceresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, transports are caught and beverages is consumed, and mature academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the first volume, the prequel with which the author began the series, is now a adult: still recognisably the spiky and determined heroine of the earlier books, but aged, melancholic, warier, less sure. This restraint is intensified by her split from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to depart in search of that youthful part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an quality which he represents as her "vision"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with wonder and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the church's controlling power, and the author's brilliantly sinister incarnation of strict, procedural wickedness – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's uncle, who faults her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of leader of the church's governing body, and is intent on using his newfound authority to extend the religion's control. A key character, who carried baby the heroine to refuge along a swollen Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an academic with a sideline in spycraft: he is sent to a key location to learn more about his intentions. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and valuable rose oil which appears in some way to be the cause of a social and economic crisis emanating out from that area. The oil is viewed by some as a marketable commodity, by alternate groups as a empirical or esoteric phenomenon, and by yet others – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a source of evil; an challenge that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its source, its meaning, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be deeply linked with the destiny of the realm
In the previous volume, these narratives ran broadly in tandem. In The Rose Field, they converge. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's movements and her path are revealed to be inextricably woven with the fate of the world. Her individual quest to reunite with her soul and regain her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a wider battle with an oppressive government which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to quell independence of reason, creativity and culture: all the personal, defiant ways in which people can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The book opens with the unveiling of a series of strange cracks in the structure of the planet's sky: portals that look to give on to other worlds. An example of a portal appears to be the point of the much debated botanical substance. The Magisterium, with its leader at its helm, designates these windows as a threat to the religion's orthodoxy and sets out to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to shift from rigid logic and back to intuition, however, her conviction that these places must be protected – that their significance and what they offer is in some way essential – increases. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a philosophical tussle between naivety and knowledge is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
