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Things are collapsing in the last installment of The Dust Trilogy, the second of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that appears, in this volume especially, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from governments, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the coffers of conglomerates, the hands of mobs. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and durable are deteriorating and failing."

The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey

Just what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that propels this final volume, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, by all accounts, the author's final excursion into the elaborately built, deeply captivating universe he first unveiled in the distant past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose landscape maps on to that of the real world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and reason and behave like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, souls in beast form; where the skies are teeming with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but below, buses are ridden and tea is drunk, and older academics carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the spiky and determined main character of the earlier books, but aged, more sorrowful, more careful, more doubtful. This restraint is intensified by her division from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.

Merging Narratives

Pan's decision to leave in search of that youthful part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an quality which he represents as her "creativity"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous journey across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and peril on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in play, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the church's governing authority, and the author's masterfully eerie embodiment of rigid, procedural malice – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's relative, who faults her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of president of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his recently acquired power to expand the church's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who saved infant the heroine 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 dispatched to the city to learn more about his plans. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and valuable botanical extract which seems mysteriously to be the origin of a societal and financial disturbance emanating out from that area. The oil is viewed by various factions as a commercial product, by different parties as a scientific or esoteric wonder, and by yet others – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of evil; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.

Like the original trilogy, Lyra's actions, and her future, are shown to be deeply linked with the future of the realm

In the previous volume, these plots ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they come together. Similar to the original series, Lyra's movements and her destiny are shown to be inseparably entwined with the destiny of the universe. Her individual quest to rejoin with her soul and regain her vision becomes the central struggle in a larger conflict with an authoritarian government which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to suppress autonomy of reason, innovation and expression: all the internal, resistant ways in which humans can be liberated.

Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts

The story begins with the unveiling of a series of curious cracks in the makeup of the world's air: windows that seem to lead to alternate realities. An example of a portal appears to be the origin of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its leadership, designates these portals as a threat to the institution's orthodoxy and endeavors to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from rigid rationalism and revert to feeling, yet, her belief that these locations must be defended – that their meaning and what they offer is somehow vital – increases. "The substance, or the substance, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a Blakean struggle between innocence and knowledge is set.

Story Tempo and Personal Evolution

At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the