Things are unraveling in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, now more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along novel and troubling lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from states, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the vaults of business empires, the grasp of crowds. "An element is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and strong are weakening and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that propels the concluding book, which continues where the previous book ended. This is, reportedly, the author's concluding venture into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating world he first revealed in the distant past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose terrain corresponds to that of this world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the people appear and reason and act like us, but are joined by animal souls, beings in animal form; where the heavens are filled with witches and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, buses are ridden and beverages is sipped, and middle-aged academics carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a young woman: still clearly the prickly and persistent protagonist of the earlier books, but aged, more sorrowful, warier, less certain. This limitation is amplified by her separation from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to leave in search of that innocent part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which chronicled Lyra undertake a picaresque trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and peril on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in play, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the religious controlling power, and the author's brilliantly sinister incarnation of rigid, administrative evil – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. The antagonist – the heroine's family member, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of president of the church's ruling assembly, and is set on using his fresh power to broaden the religion's control. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued young the heroine to security along a swollen Thames as an child in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in espionage: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about the antagonist's aims. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and valuable botanical extract which seems somehow to be the source of a societal and economic disturbance emanating out from that area. The oil is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable product, by alternate groups as a empirical or esoteric miracle, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a source of malevolence; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its source, its meaning, and whether it should be removed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the original trilogy, the heroine's deeds, and her destiny, are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the fate of the world
In its predecessor, these narratives ran mostly in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's actions and her destiny are unveiled to be inseparably woven with the future of the world. Her personal journey to reunite with her companion and regain her imagination becomes the central battleground in a broader war with an controlling regime which, as such authorities always have, is striving to quell independence of thinking, creativity and art: all the inner, defiant ways in which people can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The book starts with the unveiling of a collection of strange cracks in the structure of the world's atmosphere: windows that appear to give on to different dimensions. An example of a window seems to be the source of the much debated rose oil. The authority, with Delamare at its helm, designates these windows as a problem to the religion's beliefs and sets out to destroy them. As Lyra begins to move from inflexible logic and return to feeling, yet, her certainty that these locations must be defended – that what they stand for and what they provide is somehow vital – grows. "The substance, or the substance, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a Blakean tussle between innocence and maturity is set.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
