Things are unraveling in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a world that appears, here more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Institutions are failing, or restructuring themselves along new and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is draining from authorities, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the vaults of corporations, the grasp of crowds. "Something is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says trader a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his place in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and strong are weakening and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that propels The Rose Field, which continues where the previous book left off. This is, by all accounts, the author's last foray into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating universe he first introduced three decades past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a world whose geography aligns with that of the real world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals look and think and act like us, but are joined by animal souls, essences in beast form; where the heavens are populated with witches and legendary creatures, but underneath, buses are taken and drinks is consumed, and mature scholars carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still recognisably the sharp and persistent heroine of the prior volumes, but aged, melancholic, warier, more doubtful. This limitation is amplified by her separation from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
His choice to leave in quest of that youthful part of her which she seems to have lost (an trait which he represents as her "vision"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with marvel and peril on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in action, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister incarnation of rigid, administrative malice – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – our protagonist's uncle, who faults her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is intent on using his recently acquired influence to extend the institution's dominium. A key character, who saved infant Lyra to security along a flooded Thames as an young boy in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a additional duty in spycraft: he is sent to a key location to learn more about Delamare's plans. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and valuable essential oil which seems mysteriously to be the cause of a social and financial disturbance emanating out from that area. The extract is viewed by various factions as a marketable commodity, by different parties as a research-based or esoteric phenomenon, and by yet others – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a source of malevolence; an challenge that must be eradicated. The dilemma of where it comes from, its meaning, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the first series, Lyra's deeds, and her future, are demonstrated to be inseparably connected with the destiny of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran broadly in parallel. In the conclusion, they converge. As in the original series, the protagonist's choices and her destiny are shown to be inextricably entwined with the future of the world. Her personal journey to reconnect with her companion and rediscover her vision becomes the central battleground in a wider war with an authoritarian regime which, as such regimes typically do, is attempting to quell freedom of thought, originality and expression: all the inner, defiant ways in which people can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The novel begins with the discovery of a set of unusual fissures in the fabric of the planet's air: windows that seem to open into alternate realities. A particular opening seems to be the source of the much debated botanical substance. The authority, with Delamare at its helm, designates these windows as a problem to the church's doctrine and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to shift from rigid rationalism and back to intuition, yet, her belief that these locations must be defended – that what they stand for and what they provide is in some way crucial – increases. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a Blakean struggle between naivety and maturity is set.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
