Things are unraveling in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of the author's masterful trilogies set in a world that appears, here more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or restructuring themselves along novel and troubling lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is draining from authorities, and accumulating in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of business empires, the grasp of mobs. "Something is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and durable are deteriorating and failing."
The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that animates this final volume, which resumes where the previous book left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding venture into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating world he first introduced three decades past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose geography corresponds to that of the real world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, beings in creature form; where the skies are teeming with enchantresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, buses are ridden and tea is consumed, and older academics 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 infant in the first volume, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a adult: still clearly the prickly and determined main character of the earlier books, but more mature, more sorrowful, warier, less certain. This restraint is heightened by her split from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
The daemon's resolve to leave in pursuit of that innocent part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an quality which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which followed Lyra undertake a wandering trek across the continent and into the mountain region, facing with wonder and risk on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in motion, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the religious controlling power, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister incarnation of austere, bureaucratic evil – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's family member, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the office of president of the church's governing body, and is intent on using his recently acquired authority to extend the institution's control. Another protagonist, who rescued infant Lyra to safety along a overflowing river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a sideline in intelligence work: he is dispatched to Geneva to find out more about Delamare's intentions. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and valuable essential oil which seems somehow to be the origin of a societal and economic crisis emanating out from the region. The oil is regarded by some as a commercial good, by different parties as a empirical or mystical miracle, and by others still – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a origin of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of where it comes from, what it stands for, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
Similar to the first series, Lyra's deeds, and her fate, are shown to be deeply linked with the future of the universe
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in tandem. In The Rose Field, they come together. Like the original series, her actions and her fate are shown to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the realm. Her individual journey to reunite with her companion and regain her vision becomes the primary conflict in a larger war with an controlling system which, as such authorities always have, is seeking to suppress freedom of thinking, creativity and art: all the inner, defiant ways in which individuals can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The novel begins with the discovery of a series of unusual fissures in the fabric of the Earth's sky: windows that look to give on to different dimensions. One such window manifests to be the point of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its leadership, classifies these windows as a problem to the institution's beliefs and sets out to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to move from strict reason and return to feeling, nevertheless, her conviction that these sites must be preserved – that what they stand for and their value is somehow vital – strengthens. "Dust, or the extract, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a Blakean tussle between purity and experience is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
