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Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that appears, here more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along novel and troubling lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from governments, and pooling in the chambers of theocrats, the vaults of conglomerates, the hands of rioters. "Some force is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and strong are deteriorating and giving way."

Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path

Just what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that drives this final volume, which picks up where its predecessor ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last excursion into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting world he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose landscape aligns with that of this world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and reason and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, souls in beast form; where the air are teeming with witches and mythical beasts, but underneath, transports are taken and tea is sipped, and older professors carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the first volume, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still distinctly the spiky and tenacious heroine of the previous installments, but older, more sorrowful, more careful, less certain. This limitation is heightened by her separation from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.

Converging Storylines

Pan's decision to leave in quest of that youthful part of her which she appears to have shed (an quality which he represents as her "vision"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a wandering voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with marvel and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the religious governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of rigid, bureaucratic wickedness – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of leader of the authority's High Council, and is set on using his recently acquired power to broaden the institution's dominium. Another protagonist, who rescued young the heroine to security along a swollen river as an young boy in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in spycraft: he is assigned to Geneva to discover more about the antagonist's plans. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and precious essential oil which appears in some way to be the cause of a societal and economic crisis emanating out from Central Asia. The oil is regarded by various factions as a marketable good, by different parties as a empirical or esoteric miracle, and by further factions – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a origin of darkness; an affront that must be destroyed. The question of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is becoming urgent.

As in the first series, the heroine's decisions, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be deeply connected with the fate of the world

In its predecessor, these narratives ran mostly in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. Like His Dark Materials, her movements and her path are shown to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the realm. Her private journey to rejoin with her companion and rediscover her vision becomes the central struggle in a wider war with an oppressive regime which, as such authorities often attempt, is attempting to stifle independence of thinking, innovation and expression: all the inner, defiant ways in which individuals can be free.

Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles

The book begins with the unveiling of a collection of curious fissures in the fabric of the planet's air: portals that appear to open into alternate realities. A particular portal manifests to be the source of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its leadership, classifies these openings as a problem to the religion's doctrine and aims to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to shift from inflexible reason and return to feeling, nevertheless, her belief that these places must be preserved – that their significance and what they provide is somehow crucial – grows. "Dust, or rose oil, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a Blakean struggle between naivety and maturity is established.

Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth

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