Tings are collapsing in the last installment of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that seems, now more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or restructuring themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from states, and pooling in the offices of religious leaders, the coffers of business empires, the grasp of rioters. "Something is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and strong are deteriorating and failing."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Exactly what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which resumes where the previous book concluded. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's concluding excursion into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting world he first revealed 30 years ago, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose terrain corresponds to that of the real world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans appear and think and behave like us, but are paired by animal souls, beings in animal form; where the heavens are teeming with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, buses are taken and tea is drunk, and middle-aged professors carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still clearly the sharp and tenacious main character of the previous installments, but more mature, more sorrowful, more cautious, more doubtful. This restraint is intensified by her split from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to go off in quest of that childlike part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an quality which he represents as her "creativity"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and peril on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's ruling body, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of strict, administrative evil – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's family member, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the office of leader of the authority's governing body, and is set on using his fresh power to expand the institution's control. Another protagonist, who saved young the heroine to security along a flooded Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in espionage: he is assigned to the city to find out more about the antagonist's aims. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and valuable botanical extract which seems in some way to be the source of a social and economic upheaval rippling out from that area. The substance is viewed by certain groups as a tradeable good, by others as a scientific or esoteric miracle, and by others still – the extremist "highland figures" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its source, its meaning, and if it should be destroyed or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
As in the original trilogy, the heroine's deeds, and her fate, are demonstrated to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the world
In the previous volume, these narratives ran mostly in tandem. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to His Dark Materials, her choices and her destiny are shown to be deeply linked with the future of the universe. Her individual quest to rejoin with her daemon and regain her imagination becomes the primary struggle in a broader battle with an controlling government which, as these systems typically do, is striving to stifle autonomy of thought, innovation and art: all the personal, resistant ways in which people can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the unveiling of a collection of unusual openings in the fabric of the world's sky: windows that look to give on to different dimensions. A particular opening seems to be the point of the much debated mystical extract. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its head, designates these openings as a problem to the institution's beliefs and aims to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to move from inflexible rationalism and back to feeling, nevertheless, her certainty that these places must be protected – that their meaning and their value is mysteriously crucial – grows. "Dust, or the substance, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a philosophical tussle between purity and maturity is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
