Things are unraveling in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a world that appears, in this volume especially, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or restructuring themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is draining from governments, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the vaults of conglomerates, the grasp of mobs. "An element is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his post in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and solid are weakening and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that drives The Rose Field, which continues where its predecessor left off. This is, by all accounts, the author's final excursion into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating world he first introduced 30 years ago, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose terrain corresponds to that of our world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the individuals appear and think and act like us, but are paired by external spirits, souls in beast form; where the skies are populated with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, vehicles are taken and beverages is consumed, and middle-aged scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a child in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still clearly the spiky and tenacious main character of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, more cautious, more doubtful. This restraint is heightened by her split from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to go off in pursuit of that childlike part of her which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and peril on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister representation of strict, procedural wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's family member, who faults her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of head of the authority's governing body, and is determined on using his recently acquired influence to broaden the religion's control. Another protagonist, who carried infant the heroine to refuge along a swollen river as an child in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is assigned to the city to learn more about his intentions. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and valuable botanical extract which seems somehow to be the source of a societal and economic disturbance spreading out from that area. The substance is viewed by various factions as a marketable good, by others as a research-based or mystical phenomenon, and by others still – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a source of darkness; an insult that must be destroyed. The question of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be destroyed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the first series, the heroine's decisions, and her future, are revealed to be inseparably connected with the fate of the realm
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. Like the first trilogy, her choices and her path are unveiled to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the universe. Her personal quest to reunite with her daemon and regain her creativity becomes the key conflict in a broader war with an authoritarian system which, as these systems always have, is seeking to quell freedom of reason, creativity and expression: all the personal, resistant ways in which people can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The book begins with the finding of a set of unusual openings in the structure of the world's air: windows that look to open into other worlds. An example of a portal seems to be the origin of the highly contested mystical extract. The church, with Delamare at its head, designates these openings as a problem to the institution's orthodoxy and endeavors to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to move from rigid rationalism and revert to intuition, however, her belief that these places must be protected – that what they stand for and what they provide is in some way essential – grows. "The substance, or rose oil, or the vision, or the field of roses, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a philosophical struggle between purity and maturity is established.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the