Tings are unraveling in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a world that manifests, now more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or restructuring themselves along new and troubling lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is draining from states, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of conglomerates, the hands of rioters. "Something is at work, silently, very subtly", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and durable are weakening and giving way."
Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path
Just what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that drives this final volume, which picks up where the previous book ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final foray into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting realm he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose terrain aligns with that of the real world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and think and act like us, but are paired by external spirits, beings in creature form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, vehicles are ridden and tea is consumed, and older scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a child in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still clearly the sharp and persistent heroine of the previous installments, but aged, sadder, more careful, less sure. This circumscription is intensified by her separation from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
His choice to depart in search of that innocent part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which saw Lyra undertake a wandering voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with wonder and risk on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister incarnation of rigid, procedural malice – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's uncle, who faults her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of head of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his newfound authority to broaden the religion's control. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued baby Lyra to refuge along a swollen Thames as an child in the first book, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is sent to the city to find out more about the antagonist's plans. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and costly botanical extract which seems mysteriously to be the source of a societal and economic disturbance emanating out from the region. The extract is viewed by certain groups as a marketable commodity, by alternate groups as a scientific or esoteric miracle, and by further factions – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a source of evil; an challenge that must be destroyed. The question of its source, its meaning, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the original trilogy, Lyra's decisions, and her destiny, are shown to be inseparably connected with the fate of the world
In the previous volume, these narratives ran largely in parallel. In The Rose Field, they merge. As in the first trilogy, the protagonist's movements and her fate are revealed to be inextricably woven with the fate of the realm. Her individual mission to reconnect with her soul and regain her vision becomes the primary battleground in a larger battle with an oppressive regime which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to suppress freedom of thought, creativity and culture: all the inner, defiant ways in which humans can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The book begins with the discovery of a series of strange fissures in the makeup of the Earth's atmosphere: gateways that seem to lead to other worlds. An example of a opening manifests to be the origin of the much debated botanical substance. The church, with its leader at its head, designates these openings as a threat to the religion's orthodoxy and sets out to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from rigid logic and back to instinct, nevertheless, her belief that these places must be preserved – that their significance and their value is in some way essential – increases. "Dust, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or whatever we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean conflict between purity and knowledge is set.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
