Things are collapsing in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that seems, now more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is draining from governments, and accumulating in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of corporations, the control of crowds. "An element is at work, silently, gradually", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and solid are weakening and failing."
Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path
Just what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that drives the concluding book, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's last foray into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting world he first unveiled three decades past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose terrain maps on to that of this world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the individuals look and reason and act like us, but are paired by daemons, souls in beast form; where the heavens are filled with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, vehicles are caught and drinks is consumed, and older scholars carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the prequel, the introductory book with which the author began the series, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the spiky and tenacious main character of the previous installments, but older, more sorrowful, more cautious, less certain. This circumscription is heightened by her separation from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to leave in search of that innocent part of her which she may have forgotten (an quality which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with amazement and risk on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of strict, bureaucratic evil – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's relative, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the office of president of the church's ruling assembly, and is set on using his fresh authority to expand the religion's dominium. A key character, who carried infant Lyra to security along a swollen Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is assigned to the city to learn more about the antagonist's intentions. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and costly botanical extract which manifests in some way to be the origin of a social and economic disturbance rippling out from that area. The extract is seen by various factions as a commercial product, by alternate groups as a empirical or mystical wonder, and by others still – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an affront that must be eradicated. The question of where it comes from, its meaning, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
As in the original trilogy, our protagonist's deeds, and her destiny, are revealed to be inseparably entwined with the future of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran mostly in side by side. In The Rose Field, they merge. Like the original series, the protagonist's actions and her destiny are unveiled to be inextricably woven with the destiny of the universe. Her personal mission to rejoin with her companion and regain her vision becomes the central conflict in a larger war with an authoritarian government which, as these systems typically do, is attempting to stifle autonomy of thought, creativity and art: all the inner, defiant ways in which individuals can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The novel begins with the unveiling of a collection of curious cracks in the makeup of the planet's air: gateways that look to lead to other worlds. An example of a opening appears to be the origin of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The authority, with the antagonist at its head, designates these openings as a challenge to the religion's beliefs and sets out to destroy them. As the heroine begins to move from inflexible logic and revert to intuition, however, her certainty that these sites must be preserved – that their significance and their value is in some way vital – grows. "Dust, or the substance, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a poetic tussle between naivety and experience is established.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
