Things are collapsing in the last installment of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, in this volume especially, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Organizations are failing, or restructuring themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is draining from authorities, and gathering in the chambers of theocrats, the vaults of business empires, the hands of crowds. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were secure and durable are deteriorating and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that drives this final volume, which resumes where the previous book left off. This is, according to many, the author's final venture into the elaborately built, deeply captivating world he first introduced in the distant past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a world whose terrain maps on to that of this world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans appear and think and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, souls in creature form; where the air are filled with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, buses are caught and tea is drunk, and mature academics carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a child in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still distinctly the sharp and determined main character of the earlier books, but aged, more sorrowful, warier, less sure. This limitation is heightened by her division from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to leave in quest of that innocent part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an quality which he represents as her "creativity"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with amazement and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's governing authority, and the author's brilliantly sinister incarnation of rigid, procedural wickedness – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's uncle, who blames her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the position of head of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is set on using his recently acquired power to broaden the religion's control. A key character, who carried baby the heroine to refuge along a overflowing river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in spycraft: he is sent to a key location to learn more about his plans. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and valuable rose oil which seems in some way to be the source of a social and economic upheaval emanating out from that area. The substance is regarded by various factions as a commercial commodity, by others as a research-based or esoteric phenomenon, and by yet others – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a source of malevolence; an insult that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its source, what it stands for, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the original trilogy, our protagonist's deeds, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be deeply connected with the destiny of the realm
In the previous volume, these storylines ran broadly in tandem. In this final book, they converge. As in His Dark Materials, her choices and her path are revealed to be deeply linked with the fate of the universe. Her personal journey to reunite with her companion and rediscover her vision becomes the key battleground in a broader battle with an authoritarian system which, as such authorities always have, is striving to stifle independence of thinking, creativity and expression: all the inner, defiant ways in which people can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The book opens with the discovery of a collection of strange cracks in the makeup of the planet's sky: windows that look to open into different dimensions. A particular portal seems to be the point of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The authority, with its leader at its leadership, designates these portals as a threat to the religion's orthodoxy and sets out to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to shift from inflexible rationalism and back to intuition, yet, her certainty that these places must be protected – that their significance and what they offer is somehow crucial – increases. "Dust, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a philosophical conflict between naivety and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
