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Tings are collapsing in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that seems, here more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Organizations are failing, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from states, and accumulating in the offices of religious leaders, the vaults of business empires, the control of rioters. "Some force is at work, silently, gradually", says merchant a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and solid are faltering and collapsing."

Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path

Exactly what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that propels the concluding book, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last foray into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating universe he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose geography maps on to that of this world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the people appear and reason and act like us, but are joined by animal souls, beings in creature form; where the skies are filled with witches and legendary creatures, but below, transports are ridden and drinks is consumed, and mature professors carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the first volume, the prequel with which the author began the series, is now a young woman: still distinctly the prickly and persistent heroine of the prior volumes, but aged, melancholic, more careful, more doubtful. This circumscription is heightened by her separation from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.

Merging Narratives

His choice to depart in quest of that childlike part of her which she seems to have lost (an quality which he represents as her "vision"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and peril on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in play, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the religious ruling body, and the author's deliciously chilling incarnation of strict, procedural wickedness – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. The antagonist – Lyra's family member, who blames her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of leader of the church's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his newfound influence to expand the institution's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who carried baby the heroine to refuge along a flooded river as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is dispatched to the city to discover more about his plans. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and valuable rose oil which seems in some way to be the source of a societal and financial disturbance spreading out from that area. The oil is viewed by some as a tradeable good, by alternate groups as a research-based or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a wellspring of darkness; an challenge that must be destroyed. The issue of its source, its meaning, and if it should be eliminated or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.

Like the first series, the heroine's decisions, and her destiny, are shown to be deeply connected with the destiny of the universe

In its predecessor, these storylines ran largely in tandem. In the conclusion, they merge. Similar to His Dark Materials, her movements and her path are shown to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the world. Her private quest to reunite with her companion and recover her creativity becomes the central conflict in a larger conflict with an oppressive regime which, as such regimes always have, is attempting to suppress autonomy of thinking, innovation and expression: all the internal, resistant ways in which people can be liberated.

Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles

The book opens with the finding of a collection of strange fissures in the structure of the world's sky: windows that look to give on to other worlds. A particular opening seems to be the point of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The authority, with Delamare at its head, labels these openings as a threat to the church's doctrine and aims to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to move from rigid logic and back to feeling, however, her conviction that these locations must be defended – that their significance and what they offer is in some way essential – increases. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we call it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a Blakean tussle between naivety and maturity is prepared.

Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth

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