Things are falling apart in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that seems, in this volume especially, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Organizations are failing, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting 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 governments, and gathering in the offices of religious leaders, the coffers of corporations, the grasp of rioters. "An element is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and durable are deteriorating and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that propels The Rose Field, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, according to many, Pullman's concluding excursion into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling universe he first revealed in the distant past, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of the real world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and think and behave like us, but are joined by animal souls, souls in animal form; where the skies are populated with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but below, vehicles are caught and tea is drunk, and older professors carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a child in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still distinctly the sharp and determined main character of the previous installments, but older, sadder, more careful, more doubtful. This circumscription is heightened by her split from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to leave in pursuit of that childlike part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an trait which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a picaresque trek across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with amazement and risk on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in play, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the church's ruling body, and the author's deliciously chilling representation of rigid, procedural malice – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's family member, who faults her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the role of president of the authority's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound power to extend the religion's control. Malcolm Polstead, who carried baby the heroine to security along a swollen Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in espionage: he is dispatched to the city to discover more about the antagonist's intentions. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and precious rose oil which appears mysteriously to be the origin of a social and economic crisis spreading out from that area. The extract is seen by certain groups as a marketable commodity, by others as a scientific or mystical miracle, and by others still – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of darkness; an challenge that must be destroyed. The question of its source, its significance, and whether it should be eliminated or protected is escalating in importance.
As in His Dark Materials, Lyra's decisions, and her destiny, are shown to be inextricably linked with the future of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran broadly in parallel. In The Rose Field, they merge. Similar to the original series, Lyra's actions and her destiny are shown to be inseparably woven with the future of the world. Her personal quest to reconnect with her soul and regain her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a larger conflict with an controlling regime which, as these systems often attempt, is seeking to quell independence of reason, creativity and culture: all the personal, defiant ways in which people can be free.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The novel opens with the unveiling of a collection of unusual cracks in the fabric of the planet's sky: windows that appear to give on to different dimensions. One such opening appears to be the point of the much debated botanical substance. The authority, with its leader at its head, designates these openings as a threat to the church's beliefs and endeavors to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to move from rigid rationalism and revert to intuition, nevertheless, her conviction that these sites must be preserved – that what they stand for and what they offer is somehow vital – grows. "The substance, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a Blakean struggle between naivety and knowledge is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
