Things are falling apart in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a world that seems, now more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reassembling themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from governments, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the hands of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his place in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and strong are deteriorating and collapsing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that propels this final volume, which continues where its predecessor left off. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's last excursion into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting world he first unveiled in the distant past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose terrain corresponds to that of the real world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, essences in beast form; where the skies are populated with witches and gryphons, but underneath, vehicles are caught and beverages is sipped, and mature academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still distinctly the spiky and persistent main character of the prior volumes, but older, sadder, warier, less sure. This circumscription is heightened by her division from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
The daemon's resolve to depart in search of that childlike part of Lyra 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 its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with marvel and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in action, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of austere, procedural wickedness – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. The antagonist – Lyra's family member, who blames her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the position of leader of the church's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his newfound power to extend the religion's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who carried infant the heroine to refuge along a swollen Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a sideline in spycraft: he is sent to Geneva to learn more about the antagonist's plans. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and valuable botanical extract which manifests mysteriously to be the origin of a societal and economic crisis spreading out from Central Asia. The oil is seen by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by others as a scientific or spiritual phenomenon, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a origin of evil; an challenge that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its source, its meaning, and if it should be removed or protected is becoming urgent.
Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's decisions, and her destiny, are shown to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the universe
In its predecessor, these narratives ran largely in parallel. In this final book, they merge. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's choices and her destiny are unveiled to be inextricably woven with the future of the universe. Her private quest to reunite with her soul and recover her creativity becomes the key battleground in a wider conflict with an authoritarian system which, as these systems often attempt, is attempting to suppress independence of thinking, originality and expression: all the internal, defiant ways in which individuals can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The book starts with the unveiling of a series of curious fissures in the structure of the Earth's air: portals that appear to give on to alternate realities. A particular window manifests to be the point of the highly contested mystical extract. The church, with the antagonist at its helm, labels these openings as a challenge to the church's beliefs and aims to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to shift from inflexible rationalism and return to feeling, nevertheless, her certainty that these locations must be protected – that what they stand for and what they provide is in some way crucial – grows. "Dust, or the substance, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a poetic conflict between naivety and experience is set.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
