Things are collapsing in the last installment of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that seems, now more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or restructuring themselves along new and troubling lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from states, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the vaults of conglomerates, the hands of crowds. "Some force is at work, stealthily, gradually", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his post in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and strong are faltering and giving way."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that animates the concluding book, which continues where the previous book concluded. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final excursion into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling universe he first revealed 30 years ago, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose terrain aligns with that of this world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans appear and think and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, beings in beast form; where the air are populated with enchantresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, transports are caught and tea is consumed, and mature academics carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a child in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a young woman: still clearly the sharp and determined heroine of the earlier books, but older, sadder, more cautious, less certain. This restraint is amplified by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in quest of that youthful part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an trait which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which followed Lyra undertake a wandering voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with marvel and peril on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the church's governing authority, and the author's masterfully eerie embodiment of rigid, procedural wickedness – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's family member, who faults her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the position of leader of the church's High Council, and is set on using his fresh power to broaden the institution's control. A key character, who rescued young Lyra to refuge along a overflowing Thames as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is assigned to the city to learn more about Delamare's plans. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and precious botanical extract which seems somehow to be the source of a societal and financial disturbance emanating out from that area. The extract is viewed by some as a commercial product, by alternate groups as a scientific or spiritual phenomenon, and by yet others – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a source of malevolence; an insult that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be destroyed or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the first series, the heroine's decisions, and her destiny, are shown to be inseparably entwined with the fate of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran mostly in side by side. In this final book, they converge. Similar to His Dark Materials, her movements and her destiny are revealed to be inseparably entwined with the destiny of the universe. Her individual quest to reunite with her daemon and recover her vision becomes the central conflict in a broader battle with an oppressive government which, as such authorities always have, is striving to quell autonomy of reason, creativity and culture: all the personal, defiant ways in which people can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The book opens with the unveiling of a collection of curious fissures in the fabric of the planet's atmosphere: portals that appear to give on to alternate realities. One such opening appears to be the point of the much debated rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its head, designates these windows as a problem to the religion's orthodoxy and aims to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to move from strict reason and revert to instinct, yet, her certainty that these places must be defended – that their significance and what they provide is mysteriously essential – increases. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a poetic tussle between purity and experience is set.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
