Things are falling apart in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of the author's masterful trilogies set in a universe that seems, now more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reassembling themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from authorities, and pooling in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the hands of rioters. "An element is at work, silently, gradually", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were secure and durable are deteriorating and failing."
Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path
Just what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that propels this final volume, which resumes where the previous book left off. This is, according to many, the author's final foray into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting world he first introduced three decades past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose terrain aligns with that of the real world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and behave like us, but are joined by daemons, essences in creature form; where the air are filled with enchantresses and gryphons, but below, buses are caught and tea is sipped, and middle-aged academics carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the spiky and persistent heroine of the prior volumes, but older, melancholic, warier, less sure. This limitation is amplified by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, 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 her which she seems to have lost (an trait which he represents as her "creativity"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and peril on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the faith's ruling body, and the author's brilliantly sinister incarnation of austere, administrative evil – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's family member, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the office of head of the authority's High Council, and is determined on using his fresh authority to expand the religion's control. Another protagonist, who carried young Lyra to security along a flooded river as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in espionage: he is assigned to the city to find out more about Delamare's intentions. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and costly botanical extract which appears mysteriously to be the origin of a societal and financial upheaval rippling out from the region. The oil is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable good, by others as a research-based or spiritual wonder, and by yet others – the extremist "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of darkness; an affront that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its origins, its significance, and if it should be removed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's actions, and her destiny, are shown to be inseparably linked with the future of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they converge. Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's actions and her destiny are revealed to be inseparably woven with the destiny of the universe. Her private quest to reconnect with her daemon and rediscover her imagination becomes the central struggle in a larger battle with an oppressive system which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to quell independence of reason, innovation and art: all the personal, rebellious ways in which people can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The story begins with the unveiling of a set of strange fissures in the fabric of the planet's atmosphere: windows that appear to give on to alternate realities. A particular portal manifests to be the point of the highly contested botanical substance. The authority, with Delamare at its head, classifies these openings as a problem to the institution's beliefs and sets out to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from strict logic and return to instinct, nevertheless, her certainty that these locations must be defended – that what they stand for and their value is in some way essential – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or whatever we name it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a philosophical tussle between naivety and knowledge is set.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
