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Tings are collapsing in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a realm that seems, in this volume especially, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from authorities, and pooling in the chambers of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the grasp of rioters. "Something is at work, silently, very subtly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and solid are faltering and collapsing."

The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey

Just what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that drives this final volume, which picks up where its predecessor ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's last foray into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting world he first introduced 30 years ago, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose landscape aligns with that of our world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the individuals look and think and act like us, but are joined by animal souls, beings in animal form; where the skies are teeming with sorceresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, buses are ridden and drinks is sipped, and older academics carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a young woman: still recognisably the prickly and persistent heroine of the prior volumes, but older, more sorrowful, more cautious, less certain. This limitation is intensified by her division from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.

Merging Narratives

Pan's decision to go off in search of that childlike part of her which she may have forgotten (an trait which he represents as her "vision"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, facing with amazement and risk on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in play, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the church's ruling body, and the author's brilliantly sinister incarnation of rigid, procedural evil – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's uncle, who blames her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the position of president of the authority's governing body, and is determined on using his newfound power to extend the religion's control. Another protagonist, who saved young Lyra to safety along a flooded Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an academic with a sideline in intelligence work: he is sent to a key location to discover more about Delamare's intentions. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and valuable essential oil which seems somehow to be the cause of a social and economic upheaval rippling out from that area. The extract is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable commodity, by different parties as a empirical or mystical phenomenon, and by yet others – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a source of malevolence; an insult that must be eradicated. The dilemma of where it comes from, its significance, and whether it should be eliminated or protected is becoming urgent.

Like His Dark Materials, our protagonist's actions, and her future, are shown to be inseparably connected with the future of the realm

In the previous volume, these storylines ran mostly in tandem. In the conclusion, they merge. Similar to the first trilogy, the protagonist's choices and her destiny are shown to be inextricably linked with the future of the realm. Her personal mission to reconnect with her daemon and regain her imagination becomes the key battleground in a wider war with an controlling system which, as such authorities often attempt, is attempting to suppress autonomy of thought, innovation and expression: all the inner, rebellious ways in which individuals can be free.

Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles

The novel starts with the discovery of a set of strange openings in the fabric of the planet's sky: windows that seem to give on to alternate realities. An example of a opening seems to be the source of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its helm, labels these openings as a threat to the institution's orthodoxy and endeavors to destroy them. As Lyra begins to turn away from inflexible logic and revert to instinct, however, her belief that these sites must be protected – that their significance and their value is mysteriously vital – increases. "The substance, or the substance, or the vision, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a philosophical struggle between purity and experience is set.

Plot Rhythm and Character Development

At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the