Tings are unraveling in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that manifests, in this volume especially, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reassembling themselves along new and troubling lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from states, and gathering in the chambers of religious leaders, the vaults of business empires, the grasp of rioters. "Some force is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an city cafe. "Things we thought were secure and durable are weakening and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path
Just what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that propels The Rose Field, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, reportedly, the author's last excursion into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting world he first introduced three decades past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose landscape corresponds to that of this world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, essences in creature form; where the air are teeming with witches and gryphons, but underneath, transports are ridden and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged scholars carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the first volume, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a adult: still distinctly the spiky and determined protagonist of the previous installments, but more mature, sadder, more cautious, less certain. This restraint is amplified by her separation from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to depart in pursuit of that innocent part of her which she seems to have lost (an quality which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and peril on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in play, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the church's governing authority, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of austere, bureaucratic malice – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – Lyra's relative, who blames her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the office of leader of the church's governing body, and is determined on using his fresh influence to expand the religion's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who saved baby Lyra to security along a flooded river as an young boy in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a sideline in spycraft: he is dispatched to the city to learn more about the antagonist's intentions. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and precious essential oil which appears in some way to be the cause of a societal and economic disturbance rippling out from that area. The substance is seen by certain groups as a tradeable commodity, by different parties as a empirical or esoteric phenomenon, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a origin of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The question of its source, its significance, and whether it should be destroyed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Like the first series, Lyra's decisions, and her future, are demonstrated to be inextricably linked with the fate of the world
In its predecessor, these storylines ran mostly in tandem. In this final book, they converge. Like the first trilogy, the protagonist's choices and her fate are unveiled to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the universe. Her individual journey to reconnect with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the central struggle in a larger war with an authoritarian government which, as such regimes often attempt, is striving to suppress independence of reason, innovation and culture: all the internal, rebellious ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The book opens with the finding of a set of unusual cracks in the fabric of the world's atmosphere: windows that seem to lead to other worlds. One such portal appears to be the point of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The authority, with the antagonist at its head, classifies these windows as a problem to the religion's orthodoxy and endeavors to destroy them. As Lyra begins to shift from rigid rationalism and return to intuition, yet, her certainty that these places must be protected – that their significance and their value is in some way crucial – grows. "The substance, or the extract, or the vision, or the field of roses, or whatever we label it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a philosophical conflict between naivety and maturity is established.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
