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Things are falling apart in the last installment of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that seems, here more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along new and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from governments, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the hands of mobs. "Something is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and durable are deteriorating and failing."

Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey

Precisely what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that animates this final volume, which continues where its predecessor concluded. This is, according to many, Pullman's final venture into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting world he first revealed in the distant past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose landscape aligns with that of this world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the humans appear and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, souls in creature form; where the heavens are teeming with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but below, buses are taken and tea is drunk, and middle-aged academics carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still clearly the sharp and tenacious heroine of the prior volumes, but more mature, sadder, more cautious, less sure. This circumscription is heightened by her separation from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.

Merging Narratives

Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that youthful part of her which she seems to have lost (an trait which he represents as her "imagination"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with amazement and peril on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the faith's controlling power, and the author's brilliantly sinister incarnation of austere, bureaucratic wickedness – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's family member, who faults her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the office of president of the church's High Council, and is set on using his recently acquired authority to expand the church's dominium. Another protagonist, who rescued infant Lyra to security along a overflowing Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is sent to a key location to find out more about Delamare's aims. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and costly rose oil which appears in some way to be the origin of a social and economic upheaval spreading out from the region. The oil is seen by various factions as a tradeable product, by alternate groups as a empirical or spiritual miracle, and by further factions – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an affront that must be eradicated. The issue of its source, its meaning, 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 shown to be inseparably entwined with the destiny of the universe

In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in side by side. In this final book, they merge. Like His Dark Materials, her movements and her path are revealed to be inseparably linked with the fate of the realm. Her personal journey to reconnect with her soul and rediscover her creativity becomes the key conflict in a larger war with an oppressive system which, as such regimes typically do, is attempting to suppress independence of reason, innovation and expression: all the personal, defiant ways in which humans can be independent.

Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles

The novel opens with the discovery of a set of strange fissures in the structure of the planet's sky: gateways that seem to give on to other worlds. One such opening appears to be the origin of the highly contested botanical substance. The Magisterium, with its leader at its head, designates these openings as a challenge to the religion's beliefs and endeavors to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from strict rationalism and back to intuition, yet, her conviction that these places must be preserved – that their meaning and what they offer is somehow vital – increases. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a philosophical tussle between naivety and maturity is prepared.

Story Tempo and Character Development

At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the