Tings are falling apart in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, here more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reassembling themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from governments, and gathering in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the hands of mobs. "An element is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and durable are deteriorating and failing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that propels this final volume, which resumes where the previous book ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's final foray into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling world he first revealed in the distant past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a world whose landscape aligns with that of this world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the people appear and think and behave like us, but are joined by daemons, essences in beast form; where the heavens are filled with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, vehicles are caught and beverages is drunk, and middle-aged scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the first volume, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still clearly the prickly and persistent main character of the previous installments, but older, melancholic, more careful, less certain. This limitation is intensified by her split from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in quest of that childlike part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an quality which he represents as her "vision"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which followed Lyra undertake a picaresque trek across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with marvel and peril on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of rigid, administrative wickedness – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – our protagonist's relative, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the role of leader of the Magisterium's High Council, and is set on using his recently acquired influence to broaden the institution's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued baby Lyra to refuge along a flooded Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a sideline in espionage: he is assigned to Geneva to find out more about his intentions. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and precious essential oil which seems in some way to be the origin of a social and financial disturbance spreading out from the region. The extract is viewed by various factions as a marketable good, by different parties as a scientific or spiritual miracle, and by further factions – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a source of malevolence; an challenge that must be obliterated. The question of its origins, its significance, and if it should be removed or protected is escalating in importance.
Like the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are shown to be inextricably connected with the future of the world
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in side by side. In this final book, they converge. Like the original series, the protagonist's actions and her destiny are unveiled to be deeply linked with the future of the world. Her individual journey to reconnect with her soul and recover her creativity becomes the key battleground in a larger battle with an oppressive regime which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to quell freedom of thought, innovation and expression: all the personal, resistant ways in which people can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The novel begins with the unveiling of a set of curious fissures in the makeup of the world's sky: gateways that appear to lead to other worlds. An example of a portal manifests to be the origin of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its helm, designates these portals as a challenge to the church's doctrine and sets out to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to move from inflexible logic and return to intuition, nevertheless, her belief that these places must be protected – that their significance and what they provide is somehow essential – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a Blakean tussle between innocence and maturity is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
