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Tings are falling apart in the last installment of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a world that appears, now more than ever, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along new and troubling lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from governments, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the vaults of corporations, the hands of rioters. "Something is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and strong are deteriorating and failing."

Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey

Precisely what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that propels this final volume, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, according to many, Pullman's last foray into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting universe he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a world whose terrain aligns with that of our world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals look and reason and act like us, but are joined by daemons, souls in beast form; where the heavens are populated with witches and gryphons, but below, vehicles are caught and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the first volume, the introductory book with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still clearly the spiky and determined protagonist of the earlier books, but older, melancholic, more cautious, more doubtful. This limitation is intensified by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.

Converging Storylines

The daemon's resolve to depart in quest of that youthful part of her which she may have forgotten (an quality which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and danger on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in play, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the religious controlling power, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of rigid, procedural evil – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's family member, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of leader of the authority's governing body, and is intent on using his fresh authority to extend the religion's rule. A key character, who rescued young the heroine to refuge along a swollen river as an child in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in spycraft: he is dispatched to a key location to find out more about the antagonist's intentions. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and costly botanical extract which appears in some way to be the origin of a social and economic crisis spreading out from that area. The substance is viewed by some as a marketable commodity, by different parties as a scientific or spiritual phenomenon, and by further factions – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be eradicated. The issue of where it comes from, its significance, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.

Similar to the first series, our protagonist's actions, and her fate, are revealed to be inseparably linked with the future of the universe

In its predecessor, these plots ran broadly in tandem. In this final book, they come together. Similar to the first trilogy, the protagonist's choices and her path are unveiled to be deeply entwined with the fate of the realm. Her personal journey to reconnect with her soul and recover her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a wider war with an oppressive government which, as such authorities typically do, is striving to suppress freedom of thinking, originality and expression: all the personal, rebellious ways in which individuals can be independent.

Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles

The book opens with the discovery of a collection of unusual openings in the makeup of the planet's atmosphere: windows that look to give on to alternate realities. An example of a opening manifests to be the origin of the highly contested botanical substance. The church, with the antagonist at its head, classifies these openings as a threat to the institution's orthodoxy and endeavors to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to turn away from strict rationalism and revert to instinct, yet, her conviction that these sites must be defended – that their significance and what they offer is mysteriously crucial – strengthens. "Dust, 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 poetic conflict between innocence and experience is set.

Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution

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