Things are unraveling in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a world that appears, here more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or restructuring themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from states, and gathering in the offices of religious leaders, the coffers of business empires, the hands of crowds. "Something is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and solid are deteriorating and giving way."
Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that animates this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor ended. This is, by all accounts, the author's final venture into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling universe he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a world whose landscape maps on to that of the real world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and think and behave like us, but are paired by animal souls, souls in beast form; where the air are filled with witches and legendary creatures, but below, buses are caught and tea is drunk, and mature professors carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a child in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the first volume, the introductory book with which the author began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still distinctly the prickly and tenacious heroine of the earlier books, but more mature, melancholic, more careful, less certain. This restraint is heightened by her separation from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
The daemon's resolve to leave in pursuit of that youthful part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an trait which he represents as her "imagination"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous journey across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and danger on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in play, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the church's ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie embodiment of strict, administrative wickedness – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. The antagonist – the heroine's family member, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the role of leader of the authority's governing body, and is intent on using his newfound authority to expand the institution's rule. A key character, who rescued baby the heroine to safety along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a secondary role in spycraft: he is assigned to a key location to learn more about his intentions. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and precious rose oil which appears in some way to be the source of a societal and financial upheaval rippling out from the region. The substance is regarded by certain groups as a commercial product, by alternate groups as a empirical or esoteric phenomenon, and by further factions – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an affront that must be obliterated. The question of where it comes from, its significance, and whether it should be eliminated or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
As in the original trilogy, our protagonist's decisions, and her destiny, are revealed to be inseparably connected with the future of the world
In its predecessor, these narratives ran largely in tandem. In The Rose Field, they merge. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's actions and her destiny are revealed to be inseparably woven with the destiny of the world. Her individual quest to reunite with her soul and rediscover her vision becomes the central battleground in a broader war with an oppressive regime which, as such authorities typically do, is striving to stifle autonomy of thinking, originality and expression: all the personal, defiant ways in which humans can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The book begins with the finding of a series of strange cracks in the fabric of the world's atmosphere: gateways that appear to give on to different dimensions. An example of a portal manifests to be the origin of the much debated mystical extract. The church, with Delamare at its leadership, designates these portals as a threat to the church's doctrine and aims to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to shift from rigid logic and revert to intuition, nevertheless, her certainty that these locations must be protected – that what they stand for and what they offer is in some way vital – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a philosophical tussle between naivety and experience is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
