Things are collapsing in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of the author's masterful trilogies set in a realm that manifests, here more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along new and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from governments, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of conglomerates, the grasp of rioters. "Some force is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were stable and solid are deteriorating and failing."
Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that animates this final volume, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, by all accounts, the author's last venture into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting world he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose geography maps on to that of the real world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the people appear and reason and behave like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, souls in beast form; where the air are teeming with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but below, buses are ridden and drinks is consumed, and older scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the first volume, the introductory book with which the author began the series, is now a young woman: still recognisably the prickly and persistent protagonist of the previous installments, but older, sadder, more cautious, more doubtful. This circumscription is amplified by her division from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to depart in search of that youthful part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an quality which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with wonder and risk on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in motion, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's masterfully eerie representation of austere, bureaucratic wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – the heroine's relative, who blames her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of leader of the authority's High Council, and is set on using his newfound power to broaden the religion's dominium. A key character, who saved infant Lyra to security along a swollen Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in espionage: he is sent to Geneva to discover more about the antagonist's plans. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and valuable essential oil which manifests in some way to be the source of a social and financial disturbance rippling out from Central Asia. The oil is viewed by various factions as a marketable product, by others as a empirical or esoteric wonder, and by further factions – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a origin of malevolence; an challenge that must be eradicated. The question of where it comes from, what it stands for, and whether it should be removed or protected is becoming urgent.
As in the first series, the heroine's actions, and her destiny, are revealed to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the realm
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in parallel. In the conclusion, they come together. As in the original series, the protagonist's movements and her destiny are revealed to be deeply linked with the future of the realm. Her individual quest to reconnect with her daemon and regain her vision becomes the key conflict in a wider battle with an authoritarian regime which, as these systems typically do, is attempting to stifle freedom of reason, originality and culture: all the personal, resistant ways in which individuals can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the unveiling of a set of curious openings in the fabric of the Earth's sky: portals that look to give on to other worlds. One such portal manifests to be the source of the much debated mystical extract. The authority, with Delamare at its head, designates these portals as a problem to the institution's orthodoxy and endeavors to eliminate them. As the heroine begins to shift from rigid rationalism and back to feeling, nevertheless, her belief that these places must be defended – that their significance and what they offer is in some way crucial – increases. "Dust, or the extract, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a Blakean conflict between naivety and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
