Tings are collapsing in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that seems, now more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along new and troubling lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from authorities, and pooling in the offices of theocrats, the coffers of conglomerates, the grasp of rioters. "Something is at work, silently, very subtly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and strong are faltering and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that animates this final volume, which picks up where the previous book concluded. This is, according to many, Pullman's final foray into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling universe he first introduced three decades past, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose landscape corresponds to that of our world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans appear and think and act like us, but are joined by animal souls, beings in animal form; where the skies are filled with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, transports are caught and beverages is drunk, and older academics carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the sharp and tenacious heroine of the prior volumes, but more mature, melancholic, more careful, less sure. This limitation is heightened by her division from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to leave in quest of that youthful part of her which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and peril on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the church's ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie embodiment of austere, bureaucratic evil – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's relative, who faults her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of president of the authority's High Council, and is intent on using his fresh authority to extend the church's rule. Another protagonist, who carried infant Lyra to safety along a swollen river as an young boy in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in espionage: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about Delamare's aims. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and precious botanical extract which appears somehow to be the origin of a social and financial upheaval spreading out from that area. The substance is seen by various factions as a marketable commodity, by alternate groups as a scientific or esoteric phenomenon, and by others still – the extremist "highland figures" – as a origin of malevolence; an affront that must be eradicated. The question of its source, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the original trilogy, the heroine's actions, and her fate, are demonstrated to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the realm
In the previous volume, these narratives ran broadly in side by side. In this final book, they merge. Like the original series, Lyra's actions and her path are unveiled to be deeply entwined with the future of the world. Her personal mission to reunite with her soul and recover her imagination becomes the central conflict in a broader war with an authoritarian system which, as these systems often attempt, is seeking to suppress autonomy of thinking, innovation and art: all the personal, defiant ways in which individuals can be free.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The novel begins with the finding of a series of strange fissures in the makeup of the planet's sky: gateways that appear to give on to other worlds. One such portal seems to be the point of the highly contested mystical extract. The church, with the antagonist at its head, classifies these windows as a threat to the church's beliefs and aims to destroy them. As Lyra begins to shift from strict reason and revert to instinct, however, her conviction that these places must be protected – that what they stand for and what they provide is mysteriously vital – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a Blakean tussle between innocence and experience is set.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
