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Things are unraveling in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that appears, here more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from governments, and accumulating in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the hands of crowds. "An element is at work, stealthily, gradually", says businessman a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and durable are faltering and giving way."

Key Puzzle and Her Quest

Precisely what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that animates this final volume, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, according to many, the author's concluding excursion into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling universe he first revealed three decades past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose geography maps on to that of the real world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the people appear and think and behave like us, but are paired by animal souls, souls in animal form; where the skies are teeming with witches and legendary creatures, but underneath, buses are caught and drinks is sipped, and mature academics carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still recognisably the sharp and tenacious heroine of the prior volumes, but more mature, sadder, more careful, less sure. This circumscription is heightened by her split from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.

Interwoven Plots

Pan's decision to go off in search of that childlike part of her which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which followed Lyra undertake a picaresque trek across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and peril on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in play, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling representation of rigid, procedural evil – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's uncle, who blames her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of leader of the Magisterium's High Council, and is intent on using his recently acquired influence to broaden the religion's control. Another protagonist, who saved baby Lyra to safety along a flooded Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in spycraft: he is sent to the city to discover more about Delamare's aims. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and precious rose oil which seems in some way to be the origin of a social and economic upheaval spreading out from Central Asia. The oil is seen by certain groups as a tradeable commodity, by others as a scientific or mystical miracle, and by others still – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a origin of evil; an insult that must be eradicated. The question of its origins, its meaning, and whether it should be eliminated or safeguarded is becoming urgent.

As in the original trilogy, our protagonist's decisions, and her destiny, are shown to be inextricably linked with the future of the realm

In the previous volume, these narratives ran largely in parallel. In The Rose Field, they merge. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's choices and her destiny are shown to be inextricably entwined with the fate of the world. Her individual journey to reunite with her companion and recover her vision becomes the primary battleground in a broader battle with an controlling regime which, as such authorities often attempt, is attempting to quell freedom of thought, innovation and culture: all the internal, defiant ways in which individuals can be free.

Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles

The book starts with the unveiling of a collection of unusual cracks in the makeup of the world's sky: windows that appear to open into other worlds. An example of a opening seems to be the source of the much debated botanical substance. The Magisterium, with its leader at its helm, classifies these openings as a challenge to the institution's doctrine and aims to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to turn away from rigid rationalism and revert to instinct, yet, her belief that these locations must be protected – that what they stand for and what they offer is in some way crucial – strengthens. "The substance, or the extract, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a Blakean conflict between naivety and experience is prepared.

Story Tempo and Character Development

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