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Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that seems, now more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from states, and pooling in the chambers of religious leaders, the coffers of conglomerates, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and strong are weakening and collapsing."

Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path

Exactly what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that propels this final volume, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final excursion into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting world he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose terrain aligns with that of the real world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans appear and think and behave like us, but are paired by daemons, beings in animal form; where the air are teeming with sorceresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, buses are taken and beverages is consumed, and older professors carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still clearly the sharp and tenacious main character of the prior volumes, but older, melancholic, more cautious, less certain. This restraint is heightened by her split from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.

Converging Storylines

Pan's decision to depart in search of that youthful part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an quality which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with wonder and peril on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the church's governing authority, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of austere, procedural wickedness – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's uncle, who faults her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the role of leader of the church's High Council, and is set on using his recently acquired authority to broaden the religion's rule. A key character, who saved young the heroine to safety along a swollen Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an academic with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is dispatched to a key location to discover more about the antagonist's plans. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and costly essential oil which appears somehow to be the source of a societal and economic crisis emanating out from the region. The oil is regarded by some as a commercial good, by different parties as a scientific or esoteric wonder, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a source of malevolence; an challenge that must be destroyed. The issue of where it comes from, its significance, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is escalating in importance.

As in the original trilogy, Lyra's deeds, and her fate, are shown to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the universe

In its predecessor, these storylines ran largely in tandem. In the conclusion, they converge. Like His Dark Materials, Lyra's choices and her fate are unveiled to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the universe. Her individual quest to rejoin with her companion and regain her creativity becomes the key struggle in a wider battle with an oppressive government which, as such authorities often attempt, is attempting to quell independence of thinking, creativity and expression: all the personal, resistant ways in which humans can be liberated.

Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles

The book starts with the unveiling of a series of strange cracks in the fabric of the planet's sky: portals that appear to open into alternate realities. A particular window appears to be the origin of the highly contested botanical substance. The church, with the antagonist at its head, designates these openings as a threat to the institution's orthodoxy and endeavors to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to move from strict reason and back to intuition, nevertheless, her certainty that these locations must be defended – that their meaning and what they provide is in some way crucial – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the vision, or the field of roses, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a poetic struggle between purity and maturity is set.

Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution

At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the