Things are collapsing in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a world that appears, here more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from governments, and pooling in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the hands of rioters. "Some force is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and solid are faltering and failing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that animates the concluding book, which picks up where its predecessor ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding foray into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating universe he first introduced 30 years ago, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a world whose terrain maps on to that of our world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans appear and think and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, essences in creature form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but below, transports are ridden and tea is consumed, and older academics carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a child in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began the series, is now a adult: still clearly the prickly and tenacious protagonist of the previous installments, but more mature, more sorrowful, more careful, more doubtful. This circumscription is intensified by her separation from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to leave in pursuit of that innocent part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with wonder and peril on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the religious controlling power, and the author's deliciously chilling incarnation of austere, administrative malice – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's family member, who blames her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of president of the church's governing body, and is determined on using his fresh influence to extend the religion's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued baby the heroine to security along a swollen Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an academic with a secondary role in espionage: he is assigned to Geneva to learn more about the antagonist's aims. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and valuable essential oil which appears in some way to be the origin of a societal and economic disturbance rippling out from that area. The extract is viewed by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by different parties as a empirical or esoteric phenomenon, and by others still – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a source of evil; an affront that must be obliterated. The issue of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be destroyed or preserved is becoming urgent.
Like His Dark Materials, our protagonist's decisions, and her future, are demonstrated to be deeply linked with the fate of the universe
In the previous volume, these narratives ran largely in tandem. In The Rose Field, they merge. Similar to the original series, the protagonist's movements and her fate are shown to be deeply linked with the fate of the universe. Her individual quest to reunite with her daemon and recover her creativity becomes the key struggle in a wider conflict with an oppressive regime which, as such authorities typically do, is seeking to stifle independence of thought, originality and art: all the inner, rebellious ways in which people can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The story starts with the discovery of a series of strange fissures in the fabric of the world's air: gateways that seem to give on to different dimensions. A particular opening seems to be the source of the highly contested botanical substance. The church, with Delamare at its helm, classifies these openings as a challenge to the institution's orthodoxy and aims to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from strict reason and return to feeling, nevertheless, her belief that these locations must be defended – that their significance and their value is mysteriously vital – strengthens. "The substance, or the substance, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a Blakean tussle between naivety and maturity is set.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
