Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a universe that manifests, now more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reassembling themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from governments, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of business empires, the hands of crowds. "An element is at work, very quietly, gradually", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and durable are deteriorating and collapsing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that animates The Rose Field, which resumes where the previous book left off. This is, according to many, Pullman's last foray into the elaborately built, deeply captivating universe he first unveiled three decades past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose landscape aligns with that of this world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans look and reason and behave like us, but are paired by animal souls, souls in creature form; where the heavens are populated with sorceresses and gryphons, but below, buses are caught and drinks is sipped, and mature scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still distinctly the prickly and tenacious protagonist of the previous installments, but more mature, sadder, more cautious, more doubtful. This circumscription is intensified by her split from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that childlike part of her which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with amazement and risk on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in motion, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of rigid, procedural wickedness – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's relative, who faults her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the office of leader of the authority's High Council, and is determined on using his newfound power to broaden the church's dominium. A key character, who carried baby the heroine to refuge along a overflowing river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a sideline in intelligence work: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about the antagonist's intentions. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and costly rose oil which manifests mysteriously to be the source of a societal and economic disturbance spreading out from that area. The oil is regarded by some as a commercial good, by different parties as a research-based or spiritual miracle, and by further factions – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a origin of evil; an affront that must be eradicated. The question of its source, what it stands for, and if it should be removed or protected is becoming urgent.
Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's deeds, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be deeply connected with the destiny of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran mostly in tandem. In the conclusion, they merge. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's actions and her destiny are shown to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the universe. Her personal journey to rejoin with her daemon and recover her imagination becomes the central conflict in a larger war with an oppressive system which, as these systems often attempt, is seeking to suppress independence of reason, creativity and expression: all the personal, resistant ways in which humans can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The story starts with the discovery of a series of strange openings in the fabric of the Earth's atmosphere: gateways that seem to lead to different dimensions. An example of a opening appears to be the point of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The church, with its leader at its helm, labels these openings as a problem to the religion's beliefs and aims to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from inflexible reason and revert to feeling, nevertheless, her certainty that these places must be protected – that their significance and their value is somehow crucial – strengthens. "Dust, or the substance, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a Blakean struggle between innocence and knowledge is prepared.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
