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Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that appears, here more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is draining from governments, and accumulating in the chambers of religious leaders, the vaults of conglomerates, the control of crowds. "Something is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Things we thought were secure and durable are deteriorating and failing."

Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey

Just what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that animates this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor concluded. This is, according to many, Pullman's last venture into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting universe he first unveiled three decades past, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of this world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and reason and behave like us, but are paired by animal souls, souls in animal form; where the heavens are teeming with sorceresses and gryphons, but underneath, transports are ridden and drinks is sipped, and older academics carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began the series, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the spiky and persistent protagonist of the prior volumes, but older, melancholic, more cautious, less sure. This restraint is intensified by her split from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.

Converging Storylines

Pan's decision to depart in search of that innocent part of her which she may have forgotten (an quality which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and peril on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in action, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the religious governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling representation of austere, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's relative, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the position of head of the authority's High Council, and is intent on using his fresh authority to extend the religion's rule. A key character, who rescued young the heroine to safety along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in espionage: he is dispatched to Geneva to discover more about his plans. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and costly rose oil which appears somehow to be the origin of a social and financial disturbance emanating out from Central Asia. The substance is viewed by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by different parties as a empirical or esoteric phenomenon, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be obliterated. The issue of where it comes from, its significance, and if it should be removed or safeguarded is escalating in importance.

As in the original trilogy, Lyra's actions, and her future, are revealed to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the world

In its predecessor, these narratives ran largely in tandem. In this final book, they converge. As in His Dark Materials, Lyra's choices and her path are unveiled to be inextricably entwined with the future of the universe. Her individual mission to reunite with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the key battleground in a broader conflict with an oppressive system which, as these systems always have, is striving to quell freedom of reason, originality and art: all the personal, defiant ways in which people can be liberated.

Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles

The novel starts with the finding of a collection of curious cracks in the makeup of the planet's sky: portals that look to give on to different dimensions. One such opening manifests to be the source of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its head, designates these windows as a challenge to the institution's orthodoxy and aims to destroy them. As Lyra begins to shift from strict reason and revert to instinct, nevertheless, her certainty that these sites must be protected – that their significance and what they offer is somehow vital – grows. "Dust, or the substance, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a philosophical conflict between innocence and knowledge is prepared.

Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution

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