Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a universe that seems, here more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along new and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from authorities, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the vaults of conglomerates, the hands of rioters. "Something is at work, silently, gradually", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and durable are weakening and failing."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Just what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that animates this final volume, which continues where its predecessor left off. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's concluding foray into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting universe he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a world whose terrain maps on to that of this world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the people appear and reason and behave like us, but are accompanied by daemons, beings in beast form; where the skies are populated with enchantresses and gryphons, but underneath, transports are ridden and drinks is sipped, and older academics carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the prequel, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a young woman: still recognisably the sharp and persistent protagonist of the earlier books, but older, more sorrowful, more careful, less sure. This limitation is heightened by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to leave in search of that youthful part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an trait which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and danger on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's ruling body, and the author's deliciously chilling representation of strict, administrative malice – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's uncle, who faults her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the office of head of the authority's ruling assembly, and is set on using his recently acquired influence to broaden the church's dominium. A key character, who rescued infant Lyra to security along a flooded Thames as an child in the first book, is now an academic with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is sent to the city to learn more about his intentions. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and precious essential oil which seems somehow to be the cause of a social and financial upheaval spreading out from the region. The oil is seen by certain groups as a commercial product, by different parties as a research-based or esoteric wonder, and by others still – the zealous "highland figures" – as a source of evil; an affront that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its source, what it stands for, and if it should be destroyed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
As in the original trilogy, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are shown to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran broadly in side by side. In this final book, they converge. As in the original series, her movements and her fate are shown to be deeply entwined with the future of the universe. Her private journey to reconnect with her companion and rediscover her imagination becomes the primary battleground in a larger battle with an authoritarian system which, as such regimes always have, is seeking to stifle autonomy of thinking, innovation and art: all the personal, rebellious ways in which humans can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The story starts with the discovery of a collection of unusual openings in the fabric of the world's atmosphere: portals that appear to lead to other worlds. One such window manifests to be the point of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The church, with its leader at its helm, designates these windows as a challenge to the church's beliefs and endeavors to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to move from strict reason and return to instinct, yet, her conviction that these sites must be preserved – that their meaning and what they provide is in some way crucial – grows. "The substance, or the substance, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a philosophical conflict between purity and experience is set.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
