Things are unraveling in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of the author's masterful trilogies set in a realm that manifests, here more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Organizations are failing, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from states, and pooling in the chambers of religious leaders, the coffers of conglomerates, the grasp of crowds. "Something is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and strong are weakening and giving way."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that drives the concluding book, which picks up where its predecessor left off. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's last venture into the elaborately built, deeply captivating realm he first unveiled in the distant past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a world whose geography maps on to that of this world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the people appear and think and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, souls in creature form; where the heavens are populated with witches and mythical beasts, but below, transports are taken and tea is drunk, and older scholars carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a child in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still distinctly the prickly and determined main character of the prior volumes, but older, sadder, warier, more doubtful. This restraint is amplified by her split from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to go off in quest of that innocent part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a picaresque journey across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with marvel and peril on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of rigid, bureaucratic malice – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. The antagonist – the heroine's uncle, who blames her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of leader of the church's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his recently acquired authority to broaden the institution's dominium. A key character, who rescued baby Lyra to security along a overflowing river as an child in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in spycraft: he is dispatched to a key location to learn more about the antagonist's plans. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and valuable essential oil which manifests in some way to be the source of a societal and financial crisis emanating out from that area. The oil is regarded by various factions as a marketable good, by others as a research-based or esoteric miracle, and by further factions – the extremist "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an challenge that must be eradicated. The issue of where it comes from, its significance, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is becoming urgent.
Similar to the original trilogy, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are revealed to be inseparably connected with the future of the universe
In its predecessor, these plots ran largely in parallel. In this final book, they merge. Like the original series, her movements and her path are revealed to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the realm. Her personal journey to reconnect with her companion and regain her vision becomes the key battleground in a broader battle with an authoritarian government which, as such authorities often attempt, is attempting to stifle independence of thought, creativity and art: all the inner, rebellious ways in which humans can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The story begins with the finding of a set of curious fissures in the fabric of the Earth's atmosphere: portals that seem to give on to other worlds. A particular portal manifests to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with Delamare at its head, designates these openings as a problem to the institution's beliefs and sets out to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from inflexible logic and revert to feeling, yet, her certainty that these places must be protected – that what they stand for and what they offer is somehow vital – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a philosophical struggle between naivety and maturity is set.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
