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Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a world that appears, here more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from governments, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the coffers of business empires, the control of rioters. "An element is at work, stealthily, gradually", says merchant a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and strong are deteriorating and giving way."

The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey

Just what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that drives the concluding book, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, reportedly, the author's last excursion into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting universe he first unveiled in the distant past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a world whose terrain aligns with that of this world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, souls in beast form; where the air are filled with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, transports are caught and beverages is consumed, and middle-aged professors carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a child in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still distinctly the spiky and persistent heroine of the prior volumes, but more mature, melancholic, more cautious, less sure. This circumscription is intensified by her split from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.

Merging Narratives

Pan's decision to go off in pursuit of that childlike part of her which she seems to have lost (an trait which he represents as her "imagination"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a adventurous journey across the continent and into the mountain region, facing with wonder and danger on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in play, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling representation of austere, procedural malice – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's uncle, who faults her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the position of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is set on using his fresh power to expand the church's control. Another protagonist, who rescued young the heroine to safety along a flooded Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in espionage: he is assigned to the city to find out more about the antagonist's intentions. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and valuable rose oil which appears mysteriously to be the source of a social and financial upheaval spreading out from Central Asia. The oil is seen by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by different parties as a research-based or spiritual phenomenon, and by further factions – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an insult that must be obliterated. The dilemma of where it comes from, its meaning, and whether it should be removed or preserved is escalating in importance.

Similar to the first series, our protagonist's decisions, and her destiny, are revealed to be inseparably connected with the future of the world

In the previous volume, these storylines ran mostly in tandem. In The Rose Field, they come together. Similar to His Dark Materials, the protagonist's actions and her path are revealed to be inseparably linked with the fate of the world. Her individual mission to reunite with her daemon and rediscover her vision becomes the key struggle in a larger battle with an oppressive system which, as such authorities always have, is attempting to suppress independence of thought, creativity and expression: all the inner, resistant ways in which people can be liberated.

Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts

The story begins with the finding of a series of curious openings in the makeup of the world's air: gateways that seem to lead to different dimensions. An example of a portal manifests to be the point of the highly contested botanical substance. The Magisterium, with its leader at its leadership, labels these openings as a challenge to the religion's beliefs and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to shift from strict reason and revert to feeling, nevertheless, her belief that these places must be protected – that their meaning and what they offer is mysteriously vital – strengthens. "Dust, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a philosophical conflict between innocence and maturity is prepared.

Narrative Pacing and Character Development

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