Tings are unraveling in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that seems, now more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from states, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the hands of mobs. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and durable are faltering and failing."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Just what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that animates this final volume, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, according to many, the author's concluding venture into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling universe he first introduced three decades past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose terrain aligns with that of our world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals appear and think and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, souls in creature form; where the skies are populated with enchantresses and gryphons, but underneath, buses are taken and drinks is drunk, and middle-aged professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the first volume, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still clearly the sharp and persistent protagonist of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, more careful, more doubtful. This limitation is heightened by her separation from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to depart in quest of that innocent part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and risk on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in action, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the church's governing authority, and the author's brilliantly sinister incarnation of austere, procedural wickedness – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's uncle, who faults her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the position of president of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is set on using his recently acquired influence to extend the church's rule. A key character, who carried baby Lyra to refuge along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in espionage: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about his intentions. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and precious rose oil which appears in some way to be the cause of a societal and financial crisis rippling out from Central Asia. The oil is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable commodity, by alternate groups as a research-based or mystical miracle, and by yet others – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an affront that must be destroyed. The question of where it comes from, its meaning, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is escalating in importance.
Similar to the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her destiny, are revealed to be inextricably connected with the fate of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran largely in tandem. In the conclusion, they converge. As in the first trilogy, the protagonist's actions and her fate are shown to be inseparably entwined with the destiny of the universe. Her personal mission to rejoin with her companion and regain her creativity becomes the key conflict in a larger battle with an controlling system which, as such authorities always have, is striving to quell freedom of thought, originality and culture: all the internal, defiant ways in which humans can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The book starts with the unveiling of a collection of strange cracks in the makeup of the planet's air: portals that look to give on to alternate realities. One such window seems to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The authority, with Delamare at its head, classifies these windows as a problem to the institution's orthodoxy and sets out to eliminate them. As the heroine begins to move from strict rationalism and revert to feeling, nevertheless, her belief that these places must be defended – that what they stand for and what they provide is somehow crucial – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a Blakean conflict between innocence and maturity is prepared.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
