Things are falling apart in the last installment of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that manifests, here more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from states, and pooling in the offices of theocrats, the vaults of business empires, the control of crowds. "An element is at work, stealthily, gradually", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his place in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and strong are weakening and failing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that drives The Rose Field, which picks up where its predecessor left off. This is, by all accounts, the author's last venture into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling realm he first introduced 30 years ago, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose terrain corresponds to that of the real world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and think and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, beings in beast form; where the skies are filled with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, transports are ridden and drinks is drunk, and mature academics carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the prequel, the origin story with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the spiky and tenacious protagonist of the prior volumes, but aged, more sorrowful, more cautious, less sure. This restraint is heightened by her split from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in search of that youthful part of her which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he represents as her "creativity"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and risk on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the church's ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of strict, procedural wickedness – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's family member, who blames her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the role of president of the church's High Council, and is intent on using his recently acquired influence to expand the church's rule. Another protagonist, who rescued baby Lyra to safety along a swollen Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in spycraft: he is sent to the city to discover more about his intentions. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and costly rose oil which appears mysteriously to be the source of a social and financial upheaval spreading out from Central Asia. The substance is seen by certain groups as a tradeable good, by different parties as a empirical or mystical phenomenon, and by further factions – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an affront that must be eradicated. The issue of its source, what it stands for, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is becoming urgent.
Like the first series, the heroine's deeds, and her future, are revealed to be inseparably connected with the future of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran largely in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. Similar to His Dark Materials, the protagonist's movements and her fate are unveiled to be inextricably woven with the destiny of the world. Her individual mission to reunite with her companion and regain her imagination becomes the primary struggle in a larger conflict with an oppressive system which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to quell freedom of thought, innovation and culture: all the internal, defiant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The novel starts with the unveiling of a collection of curious openings in the structure of the world's air: portals that look to lead to alternate realities. An example of a opening seems to be the point of the highly contested botanical substance. The authority, with its leader at its head, labels these windows as a problem to the religion's beliefs and endeavors to eliminate them. As the heroine begins to move from strict logic and back to instinct, however, her certainty that these locations must be defended – that their meaning and their value is somehow essential – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a philosophical conflict between purity and experience is set.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
