Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that seems, now more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or restructuring themselves along novel and troubling lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from states, and gathering in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of business empires, the control of crowds. "Some force is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and durable are deteriorating and failing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that animates the concluding book, which resumes where the previous book left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last foray into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating world he first revealed three decades past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a world whose landscape maps on to that of this world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the people appear and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, beings in beast form; where the heavens are populated with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but below, buses are ridden and beverages is consumed, and older academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the prequel, the origin story with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still clearly the spiky and determined main character of the previous installments, but older, sadder, more careful, less sure. This restraint is heightened by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to leave in search of that youthful part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an trait which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with wonder and risk on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the church's ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie embodiment of rigid, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's family member, who faults her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of president of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his fresh power to broaden the religion's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued young the heroine to security along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in spycraft: he is dispatched to a key location to find out more about his intentions. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and precious botanical extract which appears in some way to be the source of a social and economic upheaval rippling out from the region. The oil is seen by some as a marketable good, by others as a research-based or mystical miracle, and by others still – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its origins, what it stands for, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is escalating in importance.
As in the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her future, are revealed to be inseparably entwined with the destiny of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran mostly in side by side. In The Rose Field, they merge. Like the original series, Lyra's movements and her path are shown to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the world. Her personal quest to rejoin with her companion and rediscover her creativity becomes the key conflict in a wider conflict with an controlling system which, as these systems often attempt, is striving to stifle freedom of reason, originality and expression: all the internal, resistant ways in which humans can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The story starts with the unveiling of a collection of curious openings in the makeup of the planet's air: portals that look to give on to alternate realities. An example of a opening appears to be the source of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its leadership, designates these portals as a threat to the institution's beliefs and sets out to eliminate them. As the heroine begins to move from inflexible reason and return to instinct, nevertheless, her conviction that these sites must be preserved – that their meaning and what they offer is somehow vital – increases. "The substance, or rose oil, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or whatever we call it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a Blakean conflict between purity and experience is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
