Things are collapsing in the last installment of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that manifests, in this volume especially, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along new and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from authorities, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the coffers of conglomerates, the hands of mobs. "Some force is at work, silently, gradually", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and durable are weakening and collapsing."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that drives this final volume, which resumes where the previous book concluded. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final venture into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting realm he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose terrain maps on to that of this world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and think and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, beings in beast form; where the skies are populated with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, vehicles are taken and drinks is consumed, and mature professors carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a young woman: still clearly the sharp and tenacious protagonist of the previous installments, but aged, sadder, more careful, less sure. This restraint is amplified by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
The daemon's resolve to leave in quest of that innocent part of her which she seems to have lost (an trait which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across the continent and into the mountain region, facing with wonder and risk on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the religious ruling body, and the author's deliciously chilling representation of strict, bureaucratic wickedness – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. The antagonist – our protagonist's family member, who blames her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the office of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is determined on using his recently acquired influence to broaden the religion's rule. Another protagonist, who saved young Lyra to safety along a flooded river as an young boy in the prequel, is now an academic with a sideline in intelligence work: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about the antagonist's aims. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and precious botanical extract which appears mysteriously to be the source of a social and economic disturbance emanating out from that area. The oil is seen by certain groups as a tradeable good, by others as a research-based or spiritual wonder, and by further factions – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of darkness; an challenge that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its source, what it stands for, and whether it should be eliminated or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the first series, the heroine's deeds, and her future, are revealed to be deeply connected with the destiny of the universe
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. Like the first trilogy, the protagonist's actions and her destiny are revealed to be inseparably entwined with the future of the world. Her private journey to reunite with her soul and rediscover her creativity becomes the central struggle in a wider battle with an controlling system which, as such authorities always have, is seeking to suppress freedom of thought, innovation and culture: all the inner, resistant ways in which individuals can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The book opens with the finding of a series of strange fissures in the makeup of the planet's air: portals that seem to lead to different dimensions. One such opening appears to be the point of the much debated rose oil. The Magisterium, with its leader at its head, designates these windows as a threat to the religion's doctrine and endeavors to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from strict logic and revert to instinct, yet, her certainty that these places must be protected – that their meaning and what they offer is mysteriously vital – strengthens. "The substance, or rose oil, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a philosophical tussle between naivety and maturity is set.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
