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Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that appears, now more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reassembling themselves along new and troubling lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is draining from states, and pooling in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of corporations, the hands of crowds. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and solid are deteriorating and collapsing."

Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey

Just 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 concluded. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last foray into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting realm he first unveiled in the distant past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose terrain corresponds to that of the real world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the people appear and think and behave like us, but are paired by animal souls, essences in beast form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and gryphons, but below, transports are ridden and tea is consumed, and middle-aged academics carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a child in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still clearly the prickly and persistent heroine of the previous installments, but older, melancholic, more careful, less sure. This circumscription is amplified by her separation from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.

Interwoven Plots

His choice to depart in quest of that innocent part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which saw the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with wonder and peril on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in motion, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the religious ruling body, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of rigid, procedural evil – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – the heroine's uncle, who faults her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of head of the church's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his newfound influence to extend the religion's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who saved infant Lyra to refuge along a flooded Thames as an young boy in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in spycraft: he is assigned to the city to learn more about Delamare's plans. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and precious botanical extract which manifests somehow to be the origin of a societal and financial crisis rippling out from Central Asia. The oil is regarded by some as a marketable product, by others as a scientific or esoteric wonder, and by further factions – the zealous "highland figures" – as a wellspring of evil; an challenge that must be eradicated. The question of its source, its significance, and if it should be destroyed or protected is becoming urgent.

Like His Dark Materials, the heroine's actions, and her future, are demonstrated to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the world

In its predecessor, these storylines ran largely in parallel. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the original series, Lyra's choices and her fate are shown to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the realm. Her individual quest to reconnect with her daemon and recover her vision becomes the central struggle in a wider war with an oppressive system which, as such authorities always have, is striving to suppress independence of thinking, originality and expression: all the personal, defiant ways in which humans can be free.

Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts

The novel opens with the finding of a set of curious cracks in the makeup of the planet's atmosphere: portals that appear to lead to different dimensions. An example of a window appears to be the source of the highly contested mystical extract. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its head, designates these portals as a threat to the institution's doctrine and endeavors to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to shift from strict rationalism and revert to intuition, yet, her belief that these sites must be defended – that their significance and what they provide is mysteriously crucial – increases. "Dust, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a philosophical struggle between naivety and experience is established.

Story Tempo and Character Development

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