Tings are collapsing in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that manifests, now more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or restructuring themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An hidden 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 vaults of conglomerates, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Things we thought were secure and strong are deteriorating and failing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that drives The Rose Field, which continues where the previous book ended. This is, reportedly, the author's concluding foray into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting realm he first unveiled three decades past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a world whose terrain corresponds to that of our world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, essences in creature form; where the air are filled with witches and mythical beasts, but underneath, vehicles are taken and tea is drunk, and mature professors carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still recognisably the prickly and tenacious main character of the prior volumes, but older, more sorrowful, warier, more doubtful. This circumscription is heightened by her separation from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
His choice to leave in search of that youthful part of her which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which followed Lyra undertake a picaresque trek across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with amazement and risk on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in play, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the religious governing authority, and the author's deliciously chilling incarnation of strict, administrative evil – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's relative, who blames her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of leader of the church's governing body, and is set on using his newfound influence to broaden the religion's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who saved baby Lyra to security along a flooded Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in spycraft: he is sent to Geneva to discover more about the antagonist's plans. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and precious botanical extract which manifests in some way to be the cause of a societal and financial disturbance emanating out from that area. The substance is viewed by some as a marketable commodity, by alternate groups as a empirical or mystical miracle, and by others still – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a source of malevolence; an challenge that must be destroyed. The issue of where it comes from, its significance, and if it should be removed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the first series, Lyra's deeds, and her future, are demonstrated to be deeply entwined with the fate of the realm
In the previous volume, these storylines ran broadly in tandem. In this final book, they converge. Similar to His Dark Materials, her actions and her path are shown to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the realm. Her private journey to reconnect with her soul and regain her creativity becomes the central conflict in a larger battle with an oppressive system which, as such authorities often attempt, is striving to stifle autonomy of thinking, innovation and culture: all the inner, resistant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The book starts with the discovery of a set of unusual openings in the fabric of the world's sky: windows that appear to open into different dimensions. One such window manifests to be the origin of the much debated botanical substance. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its head, designates these windows as a problem to the religion's orthodoxy and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to move from strict logic and back to feeling, however, her belief that these places must be preserved – that what they stand for and their value is somehow crucial – increases. "The substance, or the substance, or the vision, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a poetic struggle between purity and knowledge is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
