Things are unraveling in the concluding book 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 charged and tilted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from states, and accumulating in the chambers of religious leaders, the vaults of corporations, the hands of crowds. "Some force is at work, stealthily, gradually", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and durable are weakening and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels the concluding book, which continues where the previous book left off. This is, according to many, the author's concluding excursion into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling realm he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose landscape maps on to that of our world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and reason and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, souls in animal form; where the skies are teeming with enchantresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, transports are ridden and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged professors carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a child in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still recognisably the sharp and tenacious main character of the earlier books, but older, more sorrowful, more careful, less sure. This restraint is amplified by her separation from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to go off in search of that youthful part of her which she may have forgotten (an trait which he represents as her "vision"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which saw the protagonist undertake a adventurous journey across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with wonder and danger on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the church's controlling power, and the author's deliciously chilling incarnation of rigid, administrative wickedness – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's family member, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the position of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is determined on using his recently acquired influence to extend the church's control. Another protagonist, who carried young Lyra to security along a swollen Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in spycraft: he is sent to Geneva to learn more about his aims. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and valuable essential oil which seems somehow to be the origin of a social and economic upheaval emanating out from Central Asia. The oil is viewed by certain groups as a marketable product, by different parties as a scientific or spiritual miracle, and by yet others – the extremist "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of evil; an insult that must be destroyed. The issue of its source, its meaning, and if it should be removed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the original trilogy, the heroine's actions, and her destiny, are revealed to be inseparably connected with the fate of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran broadly in side by side. In the conclusion, they merge. As in the first trilogy, Lyra's movements and her path are revealed to be inseparably woven with the future of the universe. Her private journey to rejoin with her companion and rediscover her creativity becomes the key conflict in a wider battle with an controlling system which, as such regimes often attempt, is attempting to suppress independence of thinking, innovation and culture: all the internal, resistant ways in which people can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The novel starts with the unveiling of a set of curious openings in the structure of the world's atmosphere: gateways that seem to lead to other worlds. One such opening seems to be the origin of the highly contested botanical substance. The church, with its leader at its helm, designates these windows as a threat to the church's orthodoxy and endeavors to destroy them. As Lyra begins to move from inflexible reason and return to feeling, nevertheless, her certainty that these places must be preserved – that what they stand for and their value is in some way essential – strengthens. "Dust, or the extract, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a Blakean struggle between innocence and maturity is set.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
