Things are collapsing in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a world that appears, now more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from authorities, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of conglomerates, the hands of rioters. "An element is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and solid are weakening and failing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels The Rose Field, which picks up where its predecessor left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last excursion into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling universe he first revealed three decades past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose geography corresponds to that of our world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans appear and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by daemons, souls in creature form; where the skies are teeming with witches and gryphons, but beneath those skies, buses are caught and tea is drunk, and older scholars carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still distinctly the prickly and tenacious main character of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, warier, more doubtful. This circumscription is intensified by her separation from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to leave in quest of that childlike part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which saw Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with marvel and danger on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in motion, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the faith's ruling body, and the author's brilliantly sinister embodiment of strict, procedural wickedness – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. The antagonist – our protagonist's uncle, who faults her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the role of head of the Magisterium's governing body, and is intent on using his newfound authority to expand the institution's dominium. A key character, who saved young the heroine to safety along a overflowing river as an child in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is assigned to a key location to find out more about the antagonist's aims. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and valuable botanical extract which manifests mysteriously to be the origin of a social and financial disturbance emanating out from the region. The substance is regarded by certain groups as a commercial good, by alternate groups as a empirical or spiritual miracle, and by others still – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be destroyed. The question of its origins, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or preserved is becoming urgent.
Similar to the first series, our protagonist's decisions, and her destiny, are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the realm
In its predecessor, these storylines ran mostly in tandem. In this final book, they merge. As in the first trilogy, her movements and her fate are revealed to be deeply woven with the fate of the world. Her private quest to reunite with her companion and rediscover her vision becomes the central battleground in a wider war with an authoritarian regime which, as these systems often attempt, is attempting to suppress autonomy of reason, originality and expression: all the inner, defiant ways in which individuals can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The novel starts with the finding of a set of unusual cracks in the makeup of the world's sky: gateways that seem to lead to alternate realities. A particular opening manifests to be the point of the much debated mystical extract. The church, with Delamare at its leadership, labels these windows as a problem to the institution's doctrine and endeavors to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to move from strict reason and return to instinct, nevertheless, her certainty that these sites must be defended – that what they stand for and what they provide is mysteriously essential – grows. "Dust, or the extract, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a philosophical struggle between naivety and maturity is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
