Things are collapsing in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a world that seems, in this volume especially, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Organizations are failing, or reorganizing themselves along new and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from governments, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the vaults of conglomerates, the hands of crowds. "Something is at work, very quietly, gradually", says merchant a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and durable are deteriorating and giving way."
Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path
Just what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which continues where the previous book ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's last excursion into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting universe he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose terrain aligns with that of the real world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, souls in creature form; where the skies are filled with witches and legendary creatures, but underneath, buses are taken and drinks is consumed, and mature academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a child in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the prequel, the origin story with which the author began the series, is now a adult: still distinctly the prickly and tenacious protagonist of the prior volumes, but older, melancholic, warier, more doubtful. This restraint is amplified by her separation from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to leave in search of that youthful part of her which she may have forgotten (an trait which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a wandering voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with marvel and peril on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in action, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the faith's controlling power, and the author's masterfully eerie embodiment of austere, procedural malice – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's family member, who blames her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the position of president of the authority's governing body, and is set on using his fresh authority to extend the church's control. A key character, who saved infant the heroine to refuge along a overflowing Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in spycraft: he is sent to Geneva to discover more about the antagonist's intentions. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and precious botanical extract which manifests somehow to be the cause of a societal and economic upheaval rippling out from that area. The oil is viewed by some as a marketable good, by different parties as a empirical or spiritual wonder, and by yet others – the extremist "highland figures" – as a source of darkness; an insult that must be eradicated. The question of its source, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Like the original trilogy, Lyra's deeds, and her destiny, are revealed to be inseparably linked with the future of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran largely in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. Like His Dark Materials, the protagonist's actions and her destiny are unveiled to be deeply linked with the fate of the realm. Her private journey to reunite with her soul and regain her creativity becomes the primary struggle in a wider battle with an oppressive government which, as these systems often attempt, is seeking to stifle autonomy of reason, creativity and art: all the internal, defiant ways in which people can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The story starts with the unveiling of a collection of unusual cracks in the structure of the world's air: windows that look to give on to other worlds. One such window seems to be the origin of the much debated mystical extract. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its head, labels these portals as a threat to the institution's doctrine and sets out to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from strict reason and back to instinct, nevertheless, her belief that these locations must be protected – that their meaning and their value is in some way essential – grows. "The substance, or the extract, or the vision, or the field of roses, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a Blakean struggle between purity and experience is set.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
