Tings are unraveling in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a world that seems, in this volume especially, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along novel and troubling lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from states, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the vaults of corporations, the hands of mobs. "Something is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were firm and solid are deteriorating and failing."
Key Puzzle and Her Quest
Just what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that drives this final volume, which resumes where the previous book left off. This is, according to many, Pullman's concluding foray into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling universe he first revealed in the distant past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a world whose geography maps on to that of our world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the people look and think and act like us, but are joined by daemons, souls in animal form; where the heavens are teeming with sorceresses and gryphons, but underneath, transports are taken and beverages is drunk, and mature scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still recognisably the prickly and determined main character of the earlier books, but older, more sorrowful, more cautious, more doubtful. This restraint is heightened by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to go off in quest of that childlike part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which followed Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and danger on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in action, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the church's governing authority, and the author's deliciously chilling incarnation of strict, procedural malice – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's family member, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the role of president of the Magisterium's High Council, and is intent on using his recently acquired influence to broaden the church's control. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued young Lyra to refuge along a swollen river as an child in the first book, is now an academic with a sideline in spycraft: he is sent to a key location to discover more about the antagonist's plans. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and precious botanical extract which seems in some way to be the cause of a social and economic crisis emanating out from the region. The substance is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable product, by others as a research-based or spiritual wonder, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a source of evil; an affront that must be obliterated. The issue of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be eliminated or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's decisions, and her fate, are demonstrated to be deeply linked with the fate of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran mostly in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. Like His Dark Materials, her actions and her destiny are shown to be inextricably linked with the fate of the world. Her individual quest to reconnect with her soul and recover her creativity becomes the key battleground in a wider conflict with an controlling regime which, as these systems often attempt, is attempting to suppress freedom of thought, creativity and culture: all the personal, resistant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The story begins with the discovery of a set of strange fissures in the fabric of the planet's atmosphere: gateways that appear to lead to other worlds. One such window seems to be the source of the much debated rose oil. The church, with its leader at its helm, labels these openings as a challenge to the church's doctrine and sets out to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to shift from inflexible logic and return to intuition, nevertheless, her certainty that these sites must be defended – that their significance and what they offer is in some way crucial – strengthens. "The substance, or the extract, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a Blakean conflict between naivety and experience is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
