Things are unraveling in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a world that seems, now more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from states, and gathering in the halls of religious leaders, the vaults of business empires, the control of mobs. "An element is at work, silently, very subtly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and solid are deteriorating and failing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Just what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that propels the concluding book, which picks up where its predecessor left off. This is, reportedly, the author's final foray into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating realm he first introduced three decades past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose landscape aligns with that of our world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans appear and reason and behave like us, but are accompanied by daemons, essences in animal form; where the skies are populated with enchantresses and gryphons, but below, buses are taken and drinks is drunk, and mature professors carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still recognisably the spiky and persistent heroine of the previous installments, but older, sadder, more cautious, more doubtful. This restraint is intensified by her separation from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to depart in quest of that childlike part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque trek across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with marvel and danger on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of rigid, procedural evil – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's relative, who faults her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is determined on using his newfound authority to expand the church's dominium. A key character, who carried young the heroine to safety along a flooded Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is assigned to the city to find out more about his intentions. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and valuable essential oil which appears mysteriously to be the source of a social and economic disturbance spreading out from the region. The substance is seen by certain groups as a tradeable commodity, by others as a research-based or mystical phenomenon, and by yet others – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of malevolence; an insult that must be eradicated. The question of its origins, what it stands for, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is escalating in importance.
Like the first series, Lyra's deeds, and her destiny, are revealed to be inseparably connected with the fate of the world
In its predecessor, these plots ran broadly in tandem. In this final book, they merge. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's choices and her path are unveiled to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the world. Her personal mission to reconnect with her companion and regain her creativity becomes the central conflict in a larger war with an oppressive system which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to quell autonomy of thought, originality and art: all the inner, resistant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The book starts with the unveiling of a series of strange fissures in the makeup of the planet's air: portals that seem to lead to alternate realities. One such window seems to be the point of the much debated rose oil. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its head, designates these openings as a challenge to the religion's doctrine and aims to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from strict logic and revert to intuition, however, her certainty that these places must be defended – that their meaning and what they provide is mysteriously essential – strengthens. "The substance, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean tussle between purity and maturity is established.
Story Tempo and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
