Tings are collapsing in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a realm that seems, in this volume especially, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from governments, and gathering in the chambers of religious leaders, the coffers of conglomerates, the grasp of crowds. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his place in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and solid are weakening and failing."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Just what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that animates The Rose Field, which picks up where its predecessor left off. This is, according to many, the author's last excursion into the elaborately built, deeply captivating realm he first introduced three decades past, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose landscape aligns with that of the real world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and reason and behave like us, but are accompanied by daemons, essences in creature form; where the air are populated with witches and gryphons, but beneath those skies, vehicles are ridden and drinks is drunk, and mature scholars carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still distinctly the sharp and persistent protagonist of the prior volumes, but aged, more sorrowful, more cautious, less sure. This limitation is intensified by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to leave in search of that innocent part of her which she may have forgotten (an trait which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and danger on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in motion, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the religious governing authority, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister representation of strict, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – the heroine's relative, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of leader of the authority's High Council, and is set on using his recently acquired influence to broaden the institution's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued infant the heroine to safety along a overflowing Thames as an young boy in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in spycraft: he is dispatched to a key location to learn more about his intentions. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and precious botanical extract which appears mysteriously to be the source of a societal and financial crisis rippling out from the region. The substance is seen by various factions as a marketable good, by different parties as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of darkness; an insult that must be destroyed. The question of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is becoming urgent.
Like the first series, our protagonist's actions, and her fate, are demonstrated to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the world
In the previous volume, these narratives ran largely in tandem. In this final book, they come together. Like the first trilogy, the protagonist's movements and her fate are unveiled to be deeply entwined with the fate of the universe. Her individual journey to reunite with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the key struggle in a wider battle with an authoritarian government which, as these systems always have, is attempting to stifle freedom of thinking, innovation and culture: all the internal, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The novel starts with the unveiling of a series of unusual openings in the fabric of the Earth's air: gateways that appear to open into different dimensions. A particular window seems to be the source of the much debated botanical substance. The church, with Delamare at its leadership, labels these windows as a challenge to the church's beliefs and sets out to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to move from inflexible reason and return to instinct, however, her belief that these sites must be defended – that what they stand for and what they offer is somehow vital – grows. "The substance, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a philosophical conflict between naivety and maturity is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
