Tings are unraveling in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of the author's masterful trilogies set in a world that seems, in this volume especially, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along new and troubling lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from authorities, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the vaults of business empires, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and durable are weakening and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels the concluding book, which continues where its predecessor ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's concluding venture into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling world he first introduced three decades past, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose landscape corresponds to that of the real world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and act like us, but are paired by external spirits, essences in beast form; where the air are filled with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, transports are ridden and tea is drunk, and middle-aged professors carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a child in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in the prequel, the introductory book with which the author began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still clearly the spiky and tenacious protagonist of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, warier, more doubtful. This circumscription is heightened by her separation from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that childlike part of her which she may have forgotten (an quality which he represents as her "creativity"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with marvel and risk on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the religious controlling power, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of austere, administrative malice – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's family member, who blames her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the role of president of the authority's High Council, and is intent on using his fresh power to extend the institution's control. Another protagonist, who carried baby the heroine to refuge along a swollen river as an child in the prequel, is now an Oxford don 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 uncommon and valuable botanical extract which manifests somehow to be the origin of a social and economic crisis emanating out from Central Asia. The substance is regarded by certain groups as a marketable product, by different parties as a research-based or mystical phenomenon, and by others still – the zealous "highland figures" – as a origin of evil; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its origins, its significance, and if it should be removed or preserved is escalating in importance.
Similar to the original trilogy, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are demonstrated to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran mostly in side by side. In this final book, they converge. As in His Dark Materials, the protagonist's choices and her path are revealed to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the world. Her personal mission to reconnect with her companion and regain her creativity becomes the central struggle in a larger battle with an oppressive regime which, as such regimes typically do, is attempting to quell freedom of reason, innovation and culture: all the personal, rebellious ways in which people can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The story opens with the unveiling of a set of unusual cracks in the fabric of the world's air: gateways that seem to open into alternate realities. An example of a opening seems to be the source of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its head, designates these portals as a threat to the institution's beliefs and sets out to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from inflexible logic and return to instinct, however, her certainty that these sites must be preserved – that their significance and what they provide is in some way essential – strengthens. "Dust, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a Blakean conflict between innocence and experience is established.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
