Tings are collapsing in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a world that seems, here more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along novel and troubling lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from authorities, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the control of mobs. "Some force is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his post in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and durable are faltering and failing."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Just what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that drives the concluding book, which continues where its predecessor concluded. This is, according to many, Pullman's concluding venture into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting realm he first introduced 30 years ago, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose landscape maps on to that of this world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the individuals appear and think and behave like us, but are joined by animal souls, essences in creature form; where the air are teeming with witches and gryphons, but beneath those skies, buses are caught and drinks is consumed, and older academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still clearly the prickly and tenacious protagonist of the prior volumes, but older, melancholic, more careful, less certain. This limitation is amplified by her separation from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to depart in quest of that childlike part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an quality which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed Lyra undertake a wandering voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with marvel and peril on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in motion, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the faith's ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie embodiment of austere, bureaucratic wickedness – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's family member, who faults her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the role of president of the Magisterium's governing body, and is determined on using his recently acquired influence to extend the religion's control. A key character, who carried baby the heroine to refuge along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in spycraft: he is assigned to a key location to find out more about Delamare's intentions. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and precious essential oil which manifests in some way to be the source of a societal and financial crisis emanating out from that area. The extract is regarded by some as a tradeable product, by alternate groups as a scientific or esoteric wonder, and by others still – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The question of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be removed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to His Dark Materials, the heroine's decisions, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inextricably connected with the future of the universe
In the previous volume, these plots ran mostly in side by side. In this final book, they come together. As in the first trilogy, the protagonist's choices and her path are unveiled to be inextricably entwined with the future of the realm. Her personal journey to reunite with her daemon and recover her vision becomes the central conflict in a wider war with an oppressive system which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to quell freedom of reason, innovation and expression: all the personal, defiant ways in which humans can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The novel starts with the finding of a series of curious fissures in the fabric of the world's sky: windows that seem to lead to other worlds. A particular window manifests to be the point of the much debated rose oil. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its helm, labels these windows as a challenge to the institution's orthodoxy and aims to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to shift from strict rationalism and return to intuition, yet, her conviction that these sites must be protected – that their meaning and their value is somehow essential – increases. "Dust, or the substance, or the vision, or the field of roses, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a poetic struggle between innocence and maturity is set.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
