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Things are collapsing in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's masterful trilogies set in a universe that seems, in this volume especially, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along new and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from authorities, and accumulating in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the grasp of rioters. "An element is at work, silently, very subtly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and solid are deteriorating and failing."

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 resumes where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's concluding foray into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting realm he first revealed 30 years ago, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose geography maps on to that of this world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans appear and reason and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, essences in creature form; where the air are filled with enchantresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, vehicles are taken and tea is sipped, and mature scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the prickly and determined main character of the previous installments, but aged, more sorrowful, more cautious, less certain. This limitation is amplified by her division from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.

Interwoven Plots

His choice to depart in pursuit of that childlike part of her which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous trek across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and danger on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in action, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the church's ruling body, and the author's deliciously chilling embodiment of strict, procedural malice – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. The antagonist – our protagonist's family member, who blames her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the position of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is set on using his recently acquired influence to expand the church's rule. Another protagonist, who rescued young the heroine to safety along a swollen Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about Delamare's plans. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and precious rose oil which appears mysteriously to be the origin of a societal and economic upheaval rippling out from that area. The substance is seen by certain groups as a marketable product, by alternate groups as a empirical or esoteric phenomenon, and by others still – the extremist "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of evil; an affront that must be destroyed. The question of where it comes from, what it stands for, and if it should be removed or safeguarded is escalating in importance.

Like the original trilogy, our protagonist's actions, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inseparably connected with the future of the realm

In its predecessor, these narratives ran mostly in tandem. In this final book, they converge. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's movements and her path are revealed to be inextricably linked with the fate of the realm. Her personal quest to reunite with her soul and regain her creativity becomes the key battleground in a broader battle with an oppressive government which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to quell autonomy of reason, innovation and culture: all the internal, defiant ways in which individuals can be liberated.

Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles

The story begins with the finding of a set of unusual fissures in the makeup of the world's sky: windows that appear to lead to different dimensions. A particular opening appears to be the origin of the much debated mystical extract. The church, with Delamare at its helm, labels these windows as a threat to the religion's doctrine and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to shift from rigid logic and back to feeling, however, her belief that these places must be defended – that their meaning and what they offer is somehow vital – grows. "Dust, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a philosophical conflict between purity and maturity is established.

Narrative Pacing and Character Development

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