Things are collapsing in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of the author's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, here more than ever, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or restructuring themselves along new and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from states, and accumulating in the chambers of religious leaders, the coffers of business empires, the hands of crowds. "An element is at work, stealthily, gradually", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and solid are weakening and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that drives this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final venture into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting universe he first unveiled three decades past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose landscape maps on to that of the real world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans look and think and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, essences in creature form; where the air are teeming with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, transports are caught and beverages is consumed, and middle-aged scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still distinctly the spiky and tenacious heroine of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, warier, less sure. This restraint is amplified by her separation from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to go off in search of that innocent part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an quality which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which followed Lyra undertake a wandering trek across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with amazement and risk on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in action, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the religious ruling body, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of rigid, procedural evil – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of leader of the church's governing body, and is intent on using his fresh authority to extend the religion's dominium. Another protagonist, who carried infant Lyra to safety along a swollen Thames as an young boy in La Belle Sauvage, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in espionage: he is assigned to Geneva to discover more about his intentions. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and precious botanical extract which seems in some way to be the source of a societal and financial disturbance spreading out from Central Asia. The oil is viewed by certain groups as a commercial commodity, by different parties as a empirical or mystical phenomenon, and by further factions – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a source of evil; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its source, its meaning, and if it should be eliminated or protected is escalating in importance.
Like the first series, Lyra's decisions, and her destiny, are shown to be inextricably entwined with the future of the world
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in tandem. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the first trilogy, the protagonist's choices and her destiny are unveiled to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the world. Her personal journey to reunite with her companion and regain her creativity becomes the primary battleground in a broader battle with an authoritarian system which, as these systems often attempt, is attempting to stifle freedom of thought, originality and culture: all the internal, defiant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The story begins with the finding of a set of curious cracks in the makeup of the planet's air: windows that appear to open into different dimensions. An example of a portal appears to be the point of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with Delamare at its helm, designates these windows as a problem to the religion's beliefs and aims to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to move from strict logic and return to intuition, yet, her conviction that these locations must be protected – that what they stand for and what they offer is mysteriously essential – strengthens. "Dust, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a Blakean struggle between innocence and experience is established.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
