Things are falling apart in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that appears, in this volume especially, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from governments, and pooling in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of business empires, the grasp of mobs. "Some force is at work, silently, very subtly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were stable and durable are weakening and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that drives this final volume, which resumes where the previous book ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's last venture into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting world he first unveiled three decades past, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose landscape aligns with that of this world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the individuals look and reason and act like us, but are paired by daemons, souls in beast form; where the skies are filled with witches and gryphons, but below, buses are taken and tea is consumed, and older scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the prequel, the origin story with which the author began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the sharp and persistent heroine of the earlier books, but aged, more sorrowful, warier, less sure. This restraint is heightened by her split from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to go off in quest of that innocent part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an quality which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which followed Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and peril on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie representation of strict, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. The antagonist – our protagonist's family member, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the position of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound power to broaden the institution's control. A key character, who carried baby Lyra to safety along a overflowing river as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in espionage: he is sent to Geneva to learn more about the antagonist's aims. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and costly rose oil which manifests somehow to be the origin of a social and financial crisis rippling out from Central Asia. The extract is seen by certain groups as a tradeable product, by others as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by others still – the extremist "mountain dwellers" – as a source of malevolence; an insult that must be eradicated. The question of its origins, its meaning, and whether it should be eliminated or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
As in the first series, Lyra's actions, and her future, are demonstrated to be inextricably connected with the future of the world
In its predecessor, these storylines ran mostly in side by side. In the conclusion, they converge. Like the original series, the protagonist's choices and her path are revealed to be deeply linked with the future of the world. Her private mission to rejoin with her soul and regain her imagination becomes the central battleground in a larger war with an authoritarian government which, as these systems often attempt, is striving to stifle freedom of thought, innovation and art: all the inner, defiant ways in which people can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The book starts with the discovery of a collection of curious openings in the makeup of the world's sky: gateways that appear to open into other worlds. One such window appears to be the origin of the much debated botanical substance. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its leadership, designates these portals as a challenge to the institution's doctrine and endeavors to eliminate them. As the heroine begins to move from strict logic and revert to feeling, however, her conviction that these locations must be preserved – that their significance and their value is somehow essential – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or whatever we call it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a poetic conflict between innocence and knowledge is established.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
