Things are unraveling in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that appears, here more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from governments, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of corporations, the control of crowds. "An element is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his place in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and solid are deteriorating and giving way."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that animates the concluding book, which resumes where the previous book concluded. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's last venture into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting realm he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose terrain aligns with that of our world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and reason and behave like us, but are paired by animal souls, souls in beast form; where the heavens are teeming with witches and gryphons, but below, vehicles are taken and tea is drunk, and middle-aged academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the prequel, the introductory book with which the author began the series, is now a adult: still recognisably the prickly and persistent heroine of the earlier books, but more mature, more sorrowful, more careful, less certain. This limitation is intensified by her separation from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to leave in quest of that childlike part of her which she seems to have lost (an quality which he represents as her "creativity"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous trek across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with marvel and danger on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in action, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the church's governing authority, and the author's deliciously chilling representation of strict, administrative malice – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. The antagonist – the heroine's family member, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the position of leader of the authority's ruling assembly, and is set on using his newfound authority to extend the religion's rule. Another protagonist, who rescued infant Lyra to security along a flooded Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an university scholar with a sideline in spycraft: he is dispatched to Geneva to discover more about his plans. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and valuable essential oil which appears in some way to be the source of a social and financial disturbance spreading out from Central Asia. The substance is seen by some as a tradeable product, by others as a empirical or esoteric phenomenon, and by further factions – the extremist "highland figures" – as a origin of malevolence; an affront that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be removed or preserved is escalating in importance.
Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's actions, and her fate, are demonstrated to be inextricably entwined with the fate of the universe
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they come together. As in His Dark Materials, her movements and her fate are shown to be inextricably linked with the fate of the realm. Her private journey to rejoin with her soul and rediscover her imagination becomes the primary conflict in a larger war with an authoritarian government which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to stifle independence of thinking, creativity and expression: all the inner, defiant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The book opens with the discovery of a collection of strange openings in the fabric of the Earth's atmosphere: windows that appear to lead to other worlds. An example of a opening seems to be the origin of the much debated rose oil. The authority, with its leader at its leadership, labels these openings as a problem to the institution's doctrine and aims to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to move from rigid rationalism and back to instinct, nevertheless, her belief that these sites must be protected – that what they stand for and their value is somehow crucial – grows. "Dust, or the substance, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a poetic tussle between naivety and maturity is established.
Story Tempo and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
