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Tings are falling apart in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that appears, in this volume especially, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from authorities, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the control of crowds. "Something is at work, silently, very subtly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and solid are faltering and giving way."

Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey

Precisely what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that propels the concluding book, which continues where the previous book ended. This is, reportedly, the author's last venture into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting world he first revealed three decades past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose landscape aligns with that of our 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, beings in animal form; where the skies are populated with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, vehicles are caught and beverages is drunk, and mature academics carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a child in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began the series, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the prickly and determined heroine of the earlier books, but more mature, more sorrowful, warier, less certain. This limitation is amplified by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.

Interwoven Plots

Pan's decision to leave in pursuit of that childlike part of her which she appears to have shed (an quality which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which followed Lyra undertake a picaresque journey across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and danger on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in play, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of austere, administrative evil – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – our protagonist's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the role of president of the authority's governing body, and is determined on using his fresh authority to broaden the religion's rule. Another protagonist, who rescued infant Lyra to security along a swollen river as an child in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a secondary role in espionage: he is dispatched to the city to find out more about the antagonist's intentions. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and precious rose oil which appears in some way to be the origin of a social and economic upheaval rippling out from Central Asia. The substance is regarded by some as a marketable good, by alternate groups as a scientific or mystical miracle, and by others still – the zealous "highland figures" – as a source of malevolence; an challenge that must be obliterated. The question of its source, its significance, and whether it should be removed or preserved is escalating in importance.

As in the first series, Lyra's actions, and her fate, are shown to be deeply connected with the destiny of the realm

In its predecessor, these plots ran broadly in parallel. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the original series, the protagonist's choices and her path are unveiled to be inextricably linked with the fate of the realm. Her personal mission to reconnect with her soul and rediscover her vision becomes the primary conflict in a broader battle with an oppressive government which, as such regimes always have, is attempting to stifle autonomy of reason, innovation and art: all the inner, defiant ways in which individuals can be liberated.

Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles

The book begins with the unveiling of a collection of curious fissures in the structure of the planet's sky: windows that look to give on to different dimensions. A particular portal seems to be the origin of the highly contested mystical extract. The church, with the antagonist at its head, labels these portals as a challenge to the church's beliefs and aims to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from inflexible logic and return to instinct, yet, her belief that these places must be protected – that their significance and what they offer is mysteriously vital – grows. "Dust, or rose oil, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean tussle between innocence and maturity is established.

Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution

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