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Tings are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a universe that appears, in this volume especially, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or restructuring themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from states, and accumulating in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the grasp of rioters. "An element is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and strong are weakening and giving way."

Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey

Just what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that drives this final volume, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, according to many, the author's last excursion into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating world he first unveiled in the distant past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose geography corresponds to that of our world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the humans appear and think and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, essences in animal form; where the heavens are filled with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but below, vehicles are ridden and beverages is drunk, and middle-aged professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still distinctly the sharp and determined heroine of the prior volumes, but more mature, melancholic, more careful, less certain. This limitation is intensified by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.

Converging Storylines

His choice to go off in pursuit of that childlike part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an quality which he represents as her "creativity"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and risk on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in play, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the church's governing authority, and the author's masterfully eerie incarnation of rigid, bureaucratic wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's relative, who faults her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of head of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his recently acquired influence to expand the religion's control. Another protagonist, who saved baby Lyra to safety along a swollen Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in spycraft: he is dispatched to a key location to learn more about Delamare's intentions. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and costly essential oil which manifests in some way to be the origin of a societal and economic upheaval spreading out from Central Asia. The substance is seen by various factions as a marketable good, by others as a scientific or esoteric wonder, and by further factions – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a source of evil; an challenge that must be eradicated. The question of its source, what it stands for, and if it should be removed or preserved is escalating in importance.

Like the first series, Lyra's decisions, and her fate, are revealed to be inextricably connected with the fate of the realm

In the previous volume, these narratives ran broadly in parallel. In this final book, they come together. Similar to His Dark Materials, the protagonist's actions and her destiny are revealed to be inseparably woven with the fate of the universe. Her individual journey to reconnect with her soul and regain her imagination becomes the key battleground in a larger conflict with an authoritarian regime which, as these systems typically do, is attempting to stifle independence of reason, originality and art: all the personal, defiant ways in which individuals can be free.

Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts

The novel begins with the discovery of a series of unusual fissures in the makeup of the Earth's sky: windows that appear to lead to alternate realities. A particular portal seems to be the point of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The Magisterium, with its leader at its helm, labels these windows as a threat to the institution's orthodoxy and sets out to destroy them. As the heroine begins to turn away from strict reason and back to intuition, yet, her certainty that these locations must be defended – that their significance and what they provide is somehow crucial – strengthens. "Dust, or the extract, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or whatever we label it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a poetic struggle between innocence and experience is established.

Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution

At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the