Tings are unraveling in the last installment of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of the author's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, now more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or restructuring themselves along new and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from governments, and accumulating in the offices of religious leaders, the coffers of conglomerates, the hands of crowds. "Something is at work, stealthily, gradually", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his place in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and durable are weakening and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Precisely what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that propels The Rose Field, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, by all accounts, the author's final venture into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting realm he first revealed 30 years ago, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose terrain corresponds to that of this world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the people appear and think and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, essences in animal form; where the skies are filled with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, transports are taken and drinks is sipped, and older professors carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still clearly the prickly and determined main character of the earlier books, but more mature, sadder, more cautious, less sure. This restraint is amplified by her separation from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
The daemon's resolve to leave in pursuit of that childlike part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which chronicled Lyra undertake a wandering voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with wonder and peril on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in play, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling representation of strict, procedural malice – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's family member, who blames her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of leader of the church's governing body, and is set on using his recently acquired authority to expand the church's control. Malcolm Polstead, who carried young Lyra to refuge along a swollen river as an young boy in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in espionage: he is assigned to a key location to learn more about the antagonist's aims. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and precious essential oil which manifests somehow to be the cause of a societal and financial disturbance rippling out from the region. The extract is seen by some as a commercial commodity, by others as a empirical or spiritual phenomenon, and by others still – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a source of darkness; an insult that must be destroyed. The issue of its origins, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the original trilogy, Lyra's deeds, and her future, are revealed to be inseparably entwined with the future of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran mostly in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. As in His Dark Materials, the protagonist's movements and her destiny are revealed to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the universe. Her personal mission to reconnect with her soul and recover her vision becomes the central conflict in a broader battle with an authoritarian government which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to stifle autonomy of thought, originality and culture: all the inner, defiant ways in which humans can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The book opens with the unveiling of a set of curious fissures in the makeup of the world's atmosphere: gateways that look to give on to different dimensions. A particular window seems to be the source of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its leadership, classifies these openings as a threat to the institution's beliefs and sets out to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from rigid reason and return to feeling, however, her belief that these sites must be preserved – that their meaning and their value is mysteriously crucial – grows. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a Blakean conflict between innocence and maturity is established.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
