Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of the author's grand trilogies set in a realm that manifests, now more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from authorities, and gathering in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of business empires, the control of mobs. "Something is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says trader a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and strong are weakening and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that propels this final volume, which continues where the previous book left off. This is, according to many, the author's last venture into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling world he first revealed three decades past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose landscape corresponds to that of our world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and think and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, souls in beast form; where the heavens are teeming with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, vehicles are ridden and drinks is drunk, and middle-aged professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still distinctly the prickly and determined heroine of the earlier books, but more mature, more sorrowful, more cautious, more doubtful. This limitation is amplified by her separation from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
The daemon's resolve to depart in search of that youthful part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an trait which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and peril on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in play, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of rigid, procedural evil – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's relative, who faults her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the office of leader of the authority's governing body, and is set on using his newfound authority to expand the institution's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued infant Lyra to safety along a swollen Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in spycraft: he is sent to Geneva to discover more about his plans. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and valuable rose oil which appears in some way to be the source of a societal and economic upheaval spreading out from that area. The oil is regarded by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by alternate groups as a research-based or spiritual wonder, and by yet others – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a origin of darkness; an insult that must be destroyed. The issue of its origins, its significance, and if it should be destroyed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Like the first series, Lyra's deeds, and her future, are shown to be inseparably connected with the future of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran broadly in side by side. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the first trilogy, the protagonist's actions and her fate are shown to be deeply entwined with the future of the world. Her private quest to reunite with her companion and regain her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a wider war with an oppressive regime which, as these systems always have, is seeking to suppress autonomy of reason, innovation and expression: all the inner, defiant ways in which individuals can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The story starts with the discovery of a series of curious cracks in the fabric of the Earth's sky: windows that look to give on to different dimensions. A particular window appears to be the source of the highly contested mystical extract. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its leadership, labels these openings as a threat to the institution's doctrine and sets out to destroy them. As Lyra begins to turn away from inflexible logic and back to feeling, however, her conviction that these places must be defended – that their significance and their value is in some way vital – strengthens. "Dust, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we name it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a Blakean struggle between purity and maturity is set.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the