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 energized and tilted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, 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 shifting from authorities, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the grasp of mobs. "An element is at work, very quietly, gradually", says merchant a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and durable are deteriorating and failing."
The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that drives the concluding book, which resumes where the previous book ended. This is, reportedly, the author's last excursion into the elaborately built, deeply captivating world he first unveiled three decades past, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose landscape maps on to that of our world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the humans look and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, essences in creature form; where the air are filled with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but below, vehicles are taken and drinks is consumed, and older scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still distinctly the sharp and persistent main character of the earlier books, but more mature, sadder, more cautious, less certain. This circumscription is intensified by her split from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to leave in pursuit of that innocent part of her which she seems to have lost (an quality which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which saw Lyra undertake a picaresque journey across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with marvel and risk on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of rigid, procedural wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's family member, who faults her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the role of leader of the authority's governing body, and is intent on using his recently acquired influence to broaden the church's dominium. Another protagonist, who saved young Lyra to refuge along a flooded Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is dispatched to the city to find out more about his aims. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and costly essential oil which seems in some way to be the source of a social and economic upheaval emanating out from Central Asia. The extract is seen by certain groups as a marketable good, by others as a empirical or mystical wonder, and by others still – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a source of darkness; an insult that must be destroyed. The issue of where it comes from, its meaning, and if it should be removed or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
Like the original trilogy, the heroine's decisions, and her fate, are shown to be inseparably entwined with the future of the universe
In its predecessor, these plots ran broadly in side by side. In this final book, they merge. Similar to His Dark Materials, the protagonist's choices and her destiny are revealed to be inseparably woven with the destiny of the universe. Her private quest to reunite with her companion and recover her imagination becomes the central conflict in a wider war with an oppressive government which, as these systems often attempt, is seeking to suppress autonomy of thought, innovation and art: all the personal, defiant ways in which individuals can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The novel starts with the unveiling of a series of strange fissures in the makeup of the planet's sky: portals that appear to lead to alternate realities. One such opening appears to be the origin of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The church, with Delamare at its leadership, labels these windows as a problem to the institution's doctrine and aims to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to move from strict reason and back to instinct, yet, her conviction that these locations must be defended – that what they stand for and what they offer is somehow vital – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a Blakean struggle between naivety and maturity is set.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
