Tings are collapsing in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that seems, now more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from authorities, and accumulating in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the Silk Roads from his place in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and solid are deteriorating and giving way."
The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that drives this final volume, which continues where its predecessor left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final foray into the elaborately built, deeply captivating universe he first unveiled in the distant past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose terrain corresponds to that of this world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and think and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, beings in animal form; where the skies are populated with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, buses are ridden and beverages is sipped, and older academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a child in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still distinctly the spiky and determined heroine of the previous installments, but aged, sadder, more cautious, less certain. This limitation is heightened by her division from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to leave in pursuit of that innocent part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an quality which he represents as her "creativity"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with marvel and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the church's governing authority, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of strict, procedural wickedness – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. The antagonist – the heroine's relative, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of head of the authority's High Council, and is intent on using his recently acquired power to broaden the church's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued young Lyra to security along a overflowing Thames as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in intelligence work: he is dispatched to a key location to learn more about his intentions. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and precious essential oil which appears mysteriously to be the cause of a social and economic disturbance spreading out from that area. The extract is viewed by some as a commercial commodity, by others as a research-based or mystical miracle, and by yet others – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a source of evil; an challenge that must be destroyed. The question of its origins, its meaning, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the first series, Lyra's deeds, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the world
In the previous volume, these narratives ran mostly in side by side. In this final book, they merge. As in the original series, her movements and her fate are unveiled to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the universe. Her individual quest to rejoin with her companion and recover her imagination becomes the key battleground in a broader conflict with an authoritarian government which, as such authorities often attempt, is striving to stifle autonomy of thought, creativity and culture: all the internal, defiant ways in which humans can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The novel begins with the finding of a series of curious cracks in the structure of the Earth's air: gateways that look to open into other worlds. One such window appears to be the point of the highly contested rose oil. The authority, with the antagonist at its head, classifies these windows as a problem to the religion's doctrine and aims to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to move from strict rationalism and back to intuition, nevertheless, her belief that these places must be defended – that what they stand for and their value is somehow crucial – strengthens. "The substance, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a poetic tussle between innocence and knowledge is established.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
