Tings are falling apart in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a realm that appears, now more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is draining from governments, and accumulating in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Things we thought were stable and solid are weakening and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that drives The Rose Field, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, reportedly, the author's concluding venture into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting realm he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a world whose geography corresponds to that of this world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the people appear and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, essences in creature form; where the air are populated with enchantresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, transports are caught and tea is sipped, and mature academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the first volume, the prequel with which the author began the series, is now a young woman: still recognisably the prickly and determined heroine of the prior volumes, but aged, more sorrowful, more careful, less certain. This restraint is heightened by her split from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to depart in search of that childlike part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an quality which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with wonder and peril on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in motion, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the faith's governing authority, and the author's brilliantly sinister incarnation of rigid, administrative evil – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's uncle, who blames her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the role of leader of the authority's governing body, and is intent on using his newfound authority to expand the church's dominium. Another protagonist, who saved young the heroine to refuge along a flooded river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is assigned to a key location to discover more about the antagonist's aims. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and valuable essential oil which appears in some way to be the source of a social and financial upheaval rippling out from that area. The oil is viewed by some as a tradeable commodity, by others as a research-based or esoteric wonder, and by yet others – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an affront that must be obliterated. The issue of its source, its meaning, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the original trilogy, the heroine's decisions, and her future, are revealed to be deeply entwined with the future of the world
In the previous volume, these storylines ran broadly in tandem. In this final book, they merge. As in the first trilogy, her actions and her destiny are revealed to be inextricably woven with the destiny of the realm. Her personal quest to reconnect with her soul and regain her imagination becomes the key struggle in a broader conflict with an authoritarian system which, as such regimes always have, is attempting to suppress independence of thinking, originality and art: all the inner, rebellious ways in which individuals can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The book starts with the unveiling of a series of unusual cracks in the structure of the Earth's atmosphere: windows that seem to give on to different dimensions. A particular opening appears to be the source of the much debated mystical extract. The church, with Delamare at its head, classifies these portals as a threat to the church's beliefs and endeavors to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from inflexible reason and return to feeling, however, her belief that these locations must be defended – that what they stand for and what they provide is mysteriously crucial – increases. "The substance, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a poetic conflict between purity and knowledge is established.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
