Things are collapsing in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that appears, here more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Organizations are failing, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from governments, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the vaults of conglomerates, the hands of rioters. "Some force is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and durable are weakening and collapsing."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Just what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that propels The Rose Field, which resumes where the previous book concluded. This is, by all accounts, the author's last foray into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating realm he first revealed three decades past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose landscape corresponds to that of our world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, beings in beast form; where the skies are teeming with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but below, vehicles are taken and beverages is drunk, and older scholars carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the prequel, the introductory book with which the author began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the sharp and persistent protagonist of the earlier books, but aged, more sorrowful, more careful, less sure. This circumscription is intensified by her split from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to go off in search of that innocent part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an trait which he represents as her "creativity"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and danger on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in motion, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the church's ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of austere, bureaucratic malice – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's relative, who blames her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the position of head of the church's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his fresh authority to extend the institution's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who carried infant Lyra to safety along a overflowing river as an child in the prequel, is now an academic with a sideline in intelligence work: he is sent to a key location to learn more about the antagonist's aims. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and valuable essential oil which appears mysteriously to be the origin of a social and financial crisis emanating out from the region. The extract is seen by some as a commercial good, by different parties as a research-based or spiritual wonder, and by others still – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a origin of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be removed or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the first series, Lyra's decisions, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be deeply linked with the future of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran broadly in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's choices and her fate are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the future of the world. Her individual journey to rejoin with her companion and recover her vision becomes the central conflict in a wider war with an authoritarian government which, as such regimes often attempt, is attempting to stifle autonomy of thinking, innovation and expression: all the internal, resistant ways in which humans can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The novel begins with the discovery of a collection of curious cracks in the makeup of the planet's atmosphere: windows that look to give on to alternate realities. A particular opening appears to be the origin of the highly contested botanical substance. The Magisterium, with its leader at its helm, labels these windows as a problem to the religion's doctrine and sets out to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from rigid rationalism and revert to instinct, however, her belief that these sites must be defended – that their meaning and what they provide is somehow crucial – grows. "The substance, or the substance, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a poetic struggle between naivety and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
