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Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that manifests, here more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or restructuring themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is draining from governments, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the hands of mobs. "Something is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and durable are faltering and failing."

The Central Mystery and Her Quest

Exactly what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which resumes where the previous book left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last foray into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling universe he first introduced three decades past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose geography 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 joined by daemons, souls in beast form; where the heavens are populated with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, vehicles are caught and tea is consumed, and middle-aged professors carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still distinctly the spiky and determined heroine of the prior volumes, but more mature, sadder, more careful, more doubtful. This restraint is intensified by her split from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.

Merging Narratives

His choice to depart in quest of that youthful part of her which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a picaresque trek across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and peril on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of austere, bureaucratic malice – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's relative, who blames her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the role of head of the Magisterium's governing body, and is determined on using his newfound power to extend the religion's dominium. A key character, who carried young Lyra to security along a overflowing river as an child in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in espionage: he is sent to a key location to discover more about his aims. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and precious essential oil which manifests in some way to be the source of a social and financial crisis rippling out from that area. The oil is viewed by various factions as a commercial product, by others as a scientific or mystical phenomenon, and by yet others – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of darkness; an challenge that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be removed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.

Like the original trilogy, the heroine's decisions, and her destiny, are shown to be inextricably entwined with the fate of the world

In its predecessor, these storylines ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they come together. Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's actions and her destiny are shown to be inextricably linked with the fate of the world. Her private quest to reconnect with her companion and rediscover her vision becomes the key struggle in a larger battle with an authoritarian system which, as these systems always have, is attempting to quell autonomy of thinking, creativity and culture: all the personal, rebellious ways in which people can be independent.

Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles

The book begins with the finding of a series of unusual openings in the fabric of the Earth's air: gateways that seem to lead to different dimensions. A particular window seems to be the origin of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The Magisterium, with its leader at its leadership, labels these portals as a threat to the religion's orthodoxy and aims to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to shift from rigid logic and return to intuition, yet, her belief that these places must be defended – that their significance and what they offer is mysteriously essential – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a poetic conflict between naivety and experience is established.

Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution

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