Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of the author's masterful trilogies set in a world that manifests, here more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from authorities, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of corporations, the control of mobs. "Some force is at work, silently, very subtly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and strong are weakening and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Just what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that animates the concluding book, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, according to many, the author's last foray into the elaborately built, deeply captivating realm he first unveiled three decades past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose terrain aligns with that of our world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans appear and reason and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, essences in beast form; where the heavens are filled with witches and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, transports are caught and tea is sipped, and older scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the sharp and determined protagonist of the earlier books, but more mature, more sorrowful, warier, less sure. This limitation is heightened by her split from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to depart in pursuit of that innocent part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a picaresque trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with marvel and danger on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in action, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the church's controlling power, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of rigid, procedural wickedness – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's family member, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the position of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound authority to expand the religion's rule. Another protagonist, who saved infant Lyra to safety along a swollen Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in spycraft: he is assigned to Geneva to learn more about the antagonist's plans. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and costly botanical extract which manifests somehow to be the cause of a societal and financial disturbance emanating out from Central Asia. The extract is viewed by some as a tradeable product, by alternate groups as a empirical or esoteric miracle, and by further factions – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a origin of evil; an challenge that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its source, its meaning, and if it should be eliminated or protected is escalating in importance.
Similar to the first series, the heroine's deeds, and her future, are demonstrated to be inextricably connected with the fate of the realm
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. As in His Dark Materials, the protagonist's movements and her path are shown to be inextricably entwined with the fate of the world. Her private journey to reconnect with her companion and rediscover her creativity becomes the central battleground in a wider battle with an oppressive system which, as such authorities always have, is seeking to quell freedom of reason, originality and art: all the internal, rebellious ways in which humans can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The story starts with the unveiling of a collection of strange cracks in the makeup of the planet's atmosphere: windows that look to open into alternate realities. One such window appears to be the origin of the highly contested mystical extract. The church, with its leader at its head, labels these portals as a threat to the institution's beliefs and sets out to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to move from inflexible logic and return to instinct, yet, her conviction that these locations must be defended – that their significance and their value is mysteriously crucial – increases. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a poetic tussle between naivety and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
