Things are collapsing in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that seems, here more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reassembling themselves along novel and troubling lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from authorities, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the treasuries of business empires, the grasp of mobs. "An element is at work, silently, gradually", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and strong are weakening and collapsing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Just what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that animates this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor left off. This is, according to many, the author's concluding venture into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting universe he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a world whose geography corresponds to that of this world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and reason and act like us, but are joined by daemons, souls in animal form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but below, buses are caught and drinks is drunk, and middle-aged scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the first volume, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a adult: still recognisably the sharp and persistent main character of the earlier books, but more mature, melancholic, more cautious, less sure. This restraint is amplified by her separation from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to leave in pursuit of that innocent part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an trait which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with amazement and risk on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in action, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling representation of strict, administrative wickedness – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's family member, who blames her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of leader of the authority's governing body, and is set on using his fresh power to extend the religion's rule. Another protagonist, who saved infant Lyra to safety along a swollen river as an child in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a sideline in espionage: he is sent to Geneva to discover more about his plans. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and precious essential oil which appears somehow to be the cause of a social and economic disturbance spreading out from the region. The substance is viewed by various factions as a tradeable product, by different parties as a scientific or esoteric miracle, and by yet others – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of evil; an insult that must be destroyed. The issue of its source, its meaning, and whether it should be destroyed or preserved is becoming urgent.
Like the original trilogy, Lyra's deeds, and her future, are shown to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the universe
In its predecessor, these plots ran broadly in tandem. In this final book, they come together. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's choices and her destiny are revealed to be inextricably woven with the future of the realm. Her private journey to reunite with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the central conflict in a wider battle with an controlling system which, as these systems typically do, is attempting to quell independence of thought, originality and art: all the internal, resistant ways in which humans can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The story opens with the finding of a series of curious fissures in the makeup of the world's sky: gateways that seem to give on to different dimensions. An example of a window seems to be the origin of the highly contested botanical substance. The church, with its leader at its helm, designates these openings as a problem to the institution's orthodoxy and aims to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to move from inflexible rationalism and back to feeling, yet, her conviction that these sites must be defended – that their meaning and their value is mysteriously vital – increases. "Dust, or the substance, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a Blakean struggle between innocence and knowledge is established.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
