Things are falling apart in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a world that appears, now more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along new and troubling lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from authorities, and accumulating in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of business empires, the grasp of mobs. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and durable are faltering and collapsing."
Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that drives this final volume, which picks up where the previous book left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final excursion into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling realm he first introduced 30 years ago, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose terrain corresponds to that of the real world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the humans appear and think and behave like us, but are joined by animal souls, essences in animal form; where the skies are filled with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, buses are taken and drinks is drunk, and middle-aged academics carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still clearly the prickly and tenacious main character of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, more cautious, more doubtful. This circumscription is amplified by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
The daemon's resolve to go off in quest of that innocent part of her which she appears to have shed (an trait which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a wandering voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and peril on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in action, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie representation of rigid, bureaucratic wickedness – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's family member, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the office of president of the Magisterium's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound authority to expand the institution's control. A key character, who saved young the heroine to refuge along a swollen river as an young boy in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in intelligence work: he is sent to Geneva to discover more about the antagonist's plans. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and valuable essential oil which appears in some way to be the cause of a societal and economic disturbance rippling out from the region. The oil is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable good, by alternate groups as a empirical or esoteric wonder, and by yet others – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an affront that must be eradicated. The issue of where it comes from, its significance, and if it should be removed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Like the first series, the heroine's decisions, and her fate, are demonstrated to be deeply linked with the fate of the universe
In the previous volume, these narratives ran broadly in parallel. In The Rose Field, they merge. Similar to the original series, her movements and her fate are shown to be deeply linked with the future of the realm. Her individual quest to reconnect with her companion and rediscover her creativity becomes the central battleground in a broader conflict with an authoritarian government which, as such regimes always have, is striving to suppress freedom of reason, creativity and art: all the personal, resistant ways in which people can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The story starts with the unveiling of a collection of curious fissures in the structure of the planet's atmosphere: portals that appear to open into other worlds. One such opening manifests to be the origin of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The authority, with its leader at its helm, designates these windows as a threat to the institution's orthodoxy and aims to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from inflexible logic and back to feeling, however, her certainty that these locations must be preserved – that what they stand for and their value is mysteriously essential – strengthens. "Dust, or the substance, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a Blakean tussle between naivety and maturity is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
