Things are collapsing in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, in this volume especially, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along new and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is draining from states, and pooling in the offices of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the hands of mobs. "Some force is at work, silently, gradually", says merchant a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Things we thought were stable and durable are weakening and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Just what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that animates this final volume, which continues where its predecessor concluded. This is, according to many, Pullman's last foray into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting universe he first introduced in the distant past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose geography maps on to that of this world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans appear and think and act like us, but are joined by animal souls, souls in animal form; where the skies are filled with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, buses are caught and drinks is consumed, and older academics carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which Pullman began the series, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the sharp and tenacious heroine of the prior volumes, but older, sadder, more cautious, more doubtful. This circumscription is intensified by her split from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to go off in quest of that innocent part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an trait which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which saw Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and danger on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in motion, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the religious ruling body, and the author's deliciously chilling representation of strict, bureaucratic wickedness – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's uncle, who blames her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of head of the authority's ruling assembly, and is set on using his recently acquired power to broaden the church's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who saved young Lyra to security along a swollen Thames as an child in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is sent to a key location to learn more about his plans. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and precious essential oil which appears in some way to be the origin of a social and economic crisis emanating out from the region. The extract is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable commodity, by alternate groups as a scientific or esoteric miracle, and by others still – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a source of evil; an affront that must be destroyed. The issue of its source, its significance, and whether it should be destroyed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the original trilogy, the heroine's decisions, and her future, are revealed to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the realm
In the previous volume, these narratives ran largely in tandem. In The Rose Field, they merge. As in His Dark Materials, her movements and her fate are revealed to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the universe. Her private quest to reunite with her companion and regain her imagination becomes the primary conflict in a broader conflict with an controlling regime which, as such authorities typically do, is seeking to stifle autonomy of reason, creativity and art: all the inner, resistant ways in which people can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the unveiling of a series of unusual openings in the fabric of the world's sky: gateways that seem to open into different dimensions. A particular window seems to be the origin of the much debated rose oil. The authority, with the antagonist at its leadership, designates these windows as a challenge to the institution's orthodoxy and sets out to destroy them. As the heroine begins to move from rigid reason and back to feeling, nevertheless, her conviction that these sites must be preserved – that their meaning and what they provide is somehow crucial – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a philosophical struggle between innocence and experience is set.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
