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Things are unraveling in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a world that appears, in this volume especially, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from states, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the vaults of corporations, the grasp of rioters. "An element is at work, stealthily, gradually", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his place in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and durable are faltering and collapsing."

Key Puzzle and Her Quest

Just what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that drives this final volume, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, according to many, Pullman's final excursion into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling realm he first unveiled three decades past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose terrain maps on to that of our world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the people appear and think and behave like us, but are paired by daemons, essences in beast form; where the heavens are filled with sorceresses and gryphons, but below, transports are ridden and beverages is drunk, and middle-aged professors carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a child in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the spiky and tenacious main character of the previous installments, but aged, melancholic, warier, less certain. This restraint is heightened by her separation from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.

Converging Storylines

His choice to depart in pursuit of that childlike part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an trait which he represents as her "vision"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with marvel and peril on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the faith's ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie embodiment of strict, procedural malice – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's family member, who blames her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the role of leader of the church's High Council, and is intent on using his fresh influence to expand the religion's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued infant Lyra to refuge along a flooded Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in espionage: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about Delamare's intentions. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and precious rose oil which seems somehow to be the origin of a societal and economic disturbance emanating out from the region. The substance is seen by various factions as a marketable product, by alternate groups as a empirical or mystical wonder, and by further factions – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a source of darkness; an insult that must be obliterated. The issue of its source, its meaning, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is becoming urgent.

Similar to the original trilogy, the heroine's actions, and her future, are revealed to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the realm

In its predecessor, these plots ran broadly in tandem. In the conclusion, they come together. Similar to the original series, her actions and her fate are revealed to be deeply entwined with the fate of the universe. Her individual quest to reconnect with her soul and recover her creativity becomes the central struggle in a larger conflict with an controlling system which, as such regimes often attempt, is attempting to suppress independence of reason, innovation and expression: all the personal, rebellious ways in which humans can be independent.

Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts

The book starts with the unveiling of a set of unusual cracks in the makeup of the planet's air: gateways that seem to lead to other worlds. One such window appears to be the source of the much debated botanical substance. The authority, with its leader at its head, labels these openings as a challenge to the institution's beliefs and sets out to destroy them. As the heroine begins to turn away from inflexible logic and back to instinct, however, her certainty that these places must be protected – that their significance and their value is mysteriously crucial – strengthens. "The substance, or the substance, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a poetic conflict between purity and experience is prepared.

Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth

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