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Tings are collapsing in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that seems, in this volume especially, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reassembling themselves along new and troubling lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from authorities, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the hands of crowds. "Something is at work, silently, gradually", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his place in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and solid are weakening and collapsing."

Core Enigma and Her Quest

Precisely what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that drives this final volume, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final foray into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating world he first revealed 30 years ago, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose landscape aligns with that of this world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and act like us, but are joined by external spirits, beings in creature form; where the air are populated with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, buses are caught and tea is sipped, and middle-aged scholars carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the first volume, the origin story with which the author began the series, is now a adult: still distinctly the spiky and determined protagonist of the previous installments, but aged, melancholic, warier, more doubtful. This limitation is amplified by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.

Converging Storylines

The daemon's resolve to depart in quest of that childlike part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with wonder and risk on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in play, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the faith's governing authority, and the author's brilliantly sinister incarnation of strict, administrative malice – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's relative, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of president of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is set on using his fresh influence to expand the religion's dominium. Another protagonist, who saved infant the heroine to refuge along a overflowing river as an young boy in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in espionage: he is dispatched to the city to learn more about Delamare's aims. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and precious rose oil which manifests somehow to be the source of a social and economic disturbance emanating out from that area. The substance is viewed by certain groups as a commercial commodity, by different parties as a empirical or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a source of darkness; an insult that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its source, what it stands for, and whether it should be removed or preserved is escalating in importance.

As in the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are revealed to be deeply connected with the fate of the realm

In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran largely in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's movements and her fate are unveiled to be deeply linked with the future of the world. Her private quest to rejoin with her soul and regain her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a larger war with an oppressive system which, as such regimes always have, is attempting to quell independence of thinking, creativity and expression: all the personal, resistant ways in which people can be free.

Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles

The story opens with the unveiling of a set of curious cracks in the structure of the Earth's atmosphere: gateways that appear to lead to alternate realities. A particular window seems to be the origin of the much debated rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its leadership, classifies these openings as a problem to the church's beliefs and sets out to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to shift from rigid rationalism and return to instinct, however, her conviction that these locations must be protected – that their meaning and what they offer is mysteriously crucial – increases. "The substance, or the substance, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a poetic tussle between purity and maturity is set.

Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution

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