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Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a universe that seems, now more than ever, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from authorities, and pooling in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and strong are weakening and collapsing."

Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path

Just what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that animates the concluding book, which continues where its predecessor left off. This is, according to many, Pullman's last foray into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting universe he first unveiled three decades past, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose geography maps on to that of this world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the people look and think and behave like us, but are joined by daemons, essences in creature form; where the heavens are teeming with witches and gryphons, but beneath those skies, buses are ridden and drinks is consumed, and mature professors carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in the prequel, the origin story with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still clearly the sharp and determined heroine of the previous installments, but older, sadder, warier, more doubtful. This restraint is amplified by her division from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.

Interwoven Plots

The daemon's resolve to depart in pursuit of that youthful part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with wonder and danger on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's masterfully eerie embodiment of austere, administrative evil – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's family member, who faults her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of president of the church's High Council, and is intent on using his fresh power to expand the church's control. A key character, who carried baby the heroine to refuge along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in spycraft: he is assigned to Geneva to find out more about the antagonist's plans. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and valuable rose oil which manifests in some way to be the source of a social and economic disturbance rippling out from the region. The substance is viewed by various factions as a marketable product, by alternate groups as a research-based or spiritual wonder, and by further factions – the extremist "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of malevolence; an insult that must be eradicated. The dilemma of where it comes from, its significance, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is escalating in importance.

Similar to the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are demonstrated to be deeply linked with the destiny of the realm

In the previous volume, these plots ran largely in parallel. In The Rose Field, they come together. Like the first trilogy, the protagonist's movements and her destiny are unveiled to be inseparably entwined with the destiny of the universe. Her individual journey to reunite with her soul and recover her vision becomes the key battleground in a wider battle with an authoritarian system which, as such authorities often attempt, is striving to suppress independence of thinking, innovation and art: all the internal, rebellious ways in which individuals can be independent.

Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles

The story opens with the unveiling of a series of unusual openings in the makeup of the planet's atmosphere: windows that look to lead to other worlds. One such window seems to be the source of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The authority, with Delamare at its head, classifies these windows as a problem to the religion's doctrine and sets out to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from inflexible reason and back to instinct, however, her belief that these places must be preserved – that their meaning and their value is somehow vital – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean conflict between purity and experience is set.

Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution

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