Things are collapsing in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that manifests, now more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along novel and troubling lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from states, and pooling in the offices of religious leaders, the coffers of corporations, the hands of rioters. "Some force is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and strong are faltering and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path
Just what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that animates The Rose Field, which picks up where the previous book concluded. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding excursion into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting realm he first revealed 30 years ago, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a world whose terrain maps on to that of this world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and think and act like us, but are joined by animal souls, essences in animal form; where the air are teeming with witches and gryphons, but below, vehicles are caught and tea is drunk, and middle-aged scholars carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the prequel, the origin story with which the author began the series, is now a mature individual: still clearly the spiky and determined main character of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, more careful, less sure. This limitation is intensified by her separation from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to depart in pursuit of that youthful part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an trait which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which chronicled Lyra undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with marvel and risk on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in play, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the faith's ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of rigid, administrative wickedness – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's family member, who blames her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the office of president of the church's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his recently acquired authority to expand the institution's dominium. Another protagonist, who carried young the heroine to safety along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in intelligence work: he is sent to Geneva to find out more about his intentions. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and costly rose oil which seems in some way to be the origin of a societal and financial crisis rippling out from that area. The oil is regarded by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by others as a empirical or mystical phenomenon, and by others still – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of evil; an challenge that must be destroyed. The issue of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be eliminated or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the original trilogy, the heroine's actions, and her fate, are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the fate of the universe
In its predecessor, these storylines ran largely in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. Similar to the original series, the protagonist's movements and her destiny are shown to be deeply linked with the fate of the world. Her private journey to rejoin with her daemon and rediscover her vision becomes the key conflict in a broader battle with an oppressive regime which, as such authorities often attempt, is seeking to stifle independence of thought, creativity and expression: all the inner, defiant ways in which individuals can be free.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The novel starts with the finding of a series of unusual openings in the fabric of the planet's sky: windows that appear to give on to other worlds. An example of a window manifests to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with Delamare at its helm, classifies these openings as a threat to the religion's doctrine and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to move from strict logic and return to instinct, nevertheless, her certainty that these locations must be defended – that what they stand for and what they provide is in some way vital – increases. "The substance, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a Blakean struggle between naivety and knowledge is set.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the