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Things are unraveling in the last installment of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that appears, now more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from authorities, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the vaults of corporations, the hands of crowds. "Something is at work, silently, gradually", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and strong are deteriorating and failing."

Core Enigma and Her Quest

Exactly what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that drives the concluding book, which continues where the previous book concluded. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding venture into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating universe he first revealed three decades past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose terrain aligns with that of this world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and reason and act like us, but are joined by animal souls, essences in creature form; where the air are filled with witches and gryphons, but below, vehicles are ridden and tea is consumed, and middle-aged scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still clearly the sharp and determined heroine of the prior volumes, but aged, melancholic, more careful, less sure. This circumscription is heightened by her separation from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.

Interwoven Plots

His choice to depart in quest of that innocent part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an trait which he represents as her "imagination"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which saw the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with amazement and risk on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in motion, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's masterfully eerie embodiment of rigid, procedural evil – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's family member, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of head of the church's High Council, and is determined on using his fresh influence to broaden the church's dominium. Another protagonist, who saved baby Lyra to refuge along a overflowing Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in spycraft: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about Delamare's aims. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and valuable botanical extract which appears somehow to be the cause of a societal and financial crisis emanating out from the region. The extract is viewed by certain groups as a commercial product, by alternate groups as a scientific or mystical miracle, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a origin of malevolence; an affront that must be eradicated. The dilemma of where it comes from, its meaning, and if it should be destroyed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.

Like the first series, Lyra's deeds, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inextricably entwined with the fate of the universe

In its predecessor, these narratives ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they merge. As in His Dark Materials, her choices and her destiny are shown to be inextricably entwined with the future of the world. Her private mission to reunite with her companion and rediscover her creativity becomes the key battleground in a broader battle with an oppressive regime which, as such regimes always have, is seeking to quell independence of thought, originality and culture: all the inner, defiant ways in which people can be liberated.

Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles

The story starts with the unveiling of a series of curious openings in the structure of the world's air: portals that seem to give on to other worlds. An example of a opening seems to be the origin of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its helm, classifies these windows as a challenge to the institution's doctrine and endeavors to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to shift from rigid reason and return to intuition, yet, her belief that these locations must be preserved – that what they stand for and what they provide is mysteriously essential – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a Blakean tussle between naivety and knowledge is prepared.

Narrative Pacing and Character Development

At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the