Tings are collapsing in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of the author's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, now more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from authorities, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the treasuries of business empires, the hands of mobs. "Some force is at work, silently, very subtly", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and durable are weakening and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Just what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that drives the concluding book, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding venture into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting world he first introduced three decades past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose landscape maps on to that of the real world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans look and reason and behave like us, but are paired by daemons, beings in animal form; where the air are teeming with witches and gryphons, but underneath, buses are ridden and beverages is consumed, and mature scholars carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a child in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a adult: still clearly the spiky and tenacious heroine of the earlier books, but aged, melancholic, more careful, less sure. This limitation is heightened by her split from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that youthful part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an quality which he represents as her "creativity"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with marvel and danger on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's controlling power, and the author's deliciously chilling embodiment of rigid, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. The antagonist – Lyra's family member, who blames her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the role of head of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his newfound influence to broaden the institution's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued baby the heroine to refuge along a overflowing river as an child in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in spycraft: he is sent to Geneva to discover more about Delamare's aims. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and costly essential oil which manifests somehow to be the cause of a societal and financial crisis emanating out from Central Asia. The substance is viewed by some as a commercial good, by alternate groups as a research-based or esoteric miracle, and by others still – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an insult that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its source, its meaning, and whether it should be destroyed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the first series, our protagonist's actions, and her fate, are shown to be inseparably entwined with the future of the universe
In the previous volume, these plots ran broadly in tandem. In the conclusion, they merge. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's actions and her destiny are unveiled to be deeply woven with the destiny of the universe. Her personal quest to rejoin with her companion and rediscover her creativity becomes the key battleground in a larger battle with an oppressive government which, as such regimes always have, is striving to quell autonomy of reason, innovation and culture: all the personal, defiant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The novel begins with the discovery of a series of strange cracks in the fabric of the Earth's air: portals that look to lead to other worlds. An example of a window appears to be the source of the much debated mystical extract. The Magisterium, with its leader at its leadership, classifies these openings as a threat to the institution's beliefs and sets out to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from strict logic and revert to feeling, nevertheless, her conviction that these locations must be defended – that their significance and their value is mysteriously vital – strengthens. "The substance, or rose oil, or the vision, or the field of roses, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a philosophical conflict between innocence and maturity is set.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
