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Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that seems, now more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along new and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from states, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the control of mobs. "Something is at work, silently, very subtly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and solid are deteriorating and giving way."

Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path

Just what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that drives this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final foray into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling realm he first revealed 30 years ago, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose geography corresponds to that of our world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and reason and behave like us, but are joined by daemons, essences in creature form; where the heavens are filled with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but below, vehicles are taken and beverages is sipped, and middle-aged scholars carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still recognisably the spiky and persistent protagonist of the previous installments, but older, more sorrowful, more careful, more doubtful. This restraint is heightened by her split from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.

Merging Narratives

The daemon's resolve to depart in quest of that innocent part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an quality which he represents as her "imagination"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with wonder and risk on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's masterfully eerie representation of austere, bureaucratic malice – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's relative, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the office of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is set on using his newfound power to broaden the church's control. Another protagonist, who saved baby the heroine to safety along a flooded Thames as an young boy in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is assigned to Geneva to find out more about Delamare's plans. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and valuable rose oil which appears in some way to be the source of a social and economic disturbance spreading out from Central Asia. The extract is seen by various factions as a commercial good, by others as a scientific or spiritual miracle, and by others still – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of malevolence; an insult that must be obliterated. The issue of where it comes from, what it stands for, and if it should be eliminated or protected is becoming urgent.

Similar to the original trilogy, our protagonist's decisions, and her future, are shown to be inseparably linked with the fate of the realm

In the previous volume, these plots ran largely in side by side. In this final book, they converge. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's movements and her destiny are unveiled to be inextricably linked with the fate of the realm. Her private quest to reconnect with her companion and regain her imagination becomes the key struggle in a larger conflict with an authoritarian regime which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to suppress freedom of thinking, innovation and culture: all the personal, rebellious ways in which people can be independent.

Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts

The book begins with the finding of a collection of strange fissures in the structure of the Earth's air: gateways that appear to lead to alternate realities. An example of a window appears to be the source of the much debated mystical extract. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its head, classifies these windows as a challenge to the institution's doctrine and endeavors to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from rigid rationalism and back to instinct, yet, her belief that these sites must be defended – that their meaning and what they offer is in some way vital – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a Blakean conflict between purity and maturity is established.

Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth

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