Tings are collapsing in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of the author's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, here more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along new and troubling lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from authorities, and pooling in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the hands of mobs. "Something is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and strong are weakening and failing."
Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path
Just what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that drives this final volume, which picks up where the previous book ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding venture into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting universe he first unveiled three decades past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose geography aligns with that of this world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans appear and reason and act like us, but are paired by external spirits, essences in creature form; where the skies are populated with sorceresses and gryphons, but underneath, vehicles are caught and beverages is sipped, and mature scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the prequel, the introductory book with which the author began this trilogy, is now a adult: still distinctly the prickly and determined heroine of the earlier books, but aged, sadder, more cautious, less sure. This limitation is heightened by her split from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to leave in quest of that childlike part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an quality which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing 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 governing authority, and the author's deliciously chilling embodiment of strict, administrative evil – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's relative, who faults her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of president of the church's governing body, and is intent on using his fresh authority to expand the religion's control. Another protagonist, who rescued young Lyra to security along a flooded river as an child in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in spycraft: he is sent to the city to discover more about Delamare's intentions. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and precious rose oil which manifests in some way to be the origin of a societal and economic upheaval emanating out from the region. The extract is seen by some as a tradeable product, by different parties as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by others still – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a origin of darkness; an insult that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its origins, its meaning, and whether it should be destroyed or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
As in the first series, the heroine's decisions, and her future, are demonstrated to be inextricably linked with the fate of the realm
In the previous volume, these narratives ran broadly in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. As in the original series, her choices and her path are unveiled to be inextricably linked with the future of the realm. Her private journey to reconnect with her companion and rediscover her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a broader conflict with an controlling government which, as such regimes often attempt, is seeking to stifle autonomy of reason, creativity and art: all the inner, defiant ways in which people can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The story starts with the finding of a collection of strange openings in the makeup of the Earth's atmosphere: portals that look to lead to different dimensions. An example of a portal appears to be the origin of the much debated botanical substance. The Magisterium, with its leader at its helm, designates these openings as a problem to the religion's doctrine and sets out to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from inflexible reason and back to instinct, yet, her conviction that these locations must be defended – that their meaning and what they offer is in some way vital – strengthens. "The substance, or the extract, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a Blakean tussle between innocence and maturity is established.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
