Tings are unraveling in the last installment of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a world that seems, now more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reassembling themselves along new and troubling lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from states, and pooling in the offices of theocrats, the coffers of conglomerates, the control of crowds. "An element is at work, silently, gradually", says trader a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and strong are faltering and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Just what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that propels this final volume, which continues where the previous book concluded. This is, reportedly, the author's last venture into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting universe he first revealed three decades past, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose terrain aligns with that of this world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the people look and think and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, souls in animal form; where the skies are filled with enchantresses and gryphons, but underneath, buses are caught and drinks is drunk, and mature professors carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the first volume, the prequel with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still clearly the sharp and determined protagonist of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, more cautious, less sure. This restraint is heightened by her division from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to leave in quest of that youthful part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he represents as her "imagination"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with amazement and risk on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the faith's ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie embodiment of rigid, procedural malice – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's uncle, who blames her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of head of the authority's governing body, and is set on using his recently acquired influence to broaden the institution's dominium. A key character, who carried infant Lyra to refuge along a swollen Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in spycraft: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about Delamare's intentions. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and valuable rose oil which manifests mysteriously to be the origin of a societal and financial upheaval emanating out from the region. The substance is seen by various factions as a commercial product, by different parties as a scientific or mystical miracle, and by further factions – the extremist "highland figures" – as a origin of malevolence; an challenge that must be eradicated. The question of its source, its significance, and if it should be destroyed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like His Dark Materials, our protagonist's decisions, and her destiny, are revealed to be deeply entwined with the fate of the universe
In the previous volume, these narratives ran mostly in tandem. In this final book, they merge. As in the first trilogy, the protagonist's choices and her fate are unveiled to be inextricably woven with the fate of the realm. Her personal quest to reconnect with her soul and regain her vision becomes the central battleground in a larger conflict with an oppressive system which, as such authorities always have, is attempting to quell freedom of reason, creativity and art: all the personal, resistant ways in which individuals can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The book begins with the discovery of a series of unusual fissures in the structure of the planet's atmosphere: windows that appear to open into different dimensions. A particular window appears to be the origin of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The church, with Delamare at its leadership, labels these portals as a challenge to the religion's beliefs and sets out to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to move from strict logic and back to intuition, nevertheless, her belief that these places must be protected – that their significance and their value is somehow vital – increases. "The substance, or the extract, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a philosophical tussle between innocence and maturity is set.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
