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Tings are collapsing in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, in this volume especially, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along new and troubling lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from states, and pooling in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of business empires, the control of crowds. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and solid are weakening and giving way."

Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path

Precisely what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that drives the concluding book, which resumes where its predecessor ended. This is, reportedly, the author's last excursion into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting universe he first unveiled three decades past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of our world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans look and think and act like us, but are accompanied by daemons, souls in beast form; where the air are filled with witches and mythical beasts, but below, buses are caught and tea is drunk, and older professors carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the first volume, the origin story with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the prickly and tenacious protagonist of the prior volumes, but older, sadder, more cautious, less sure. This limitation is heightened by her split from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.

Interwoven Plots

His choice to go off in quest of that youthful part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an quality which he represents as her "vision"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which chronicled Lyra undertake a wandering journey across the continent and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and risk on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in motion, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the church's ruling body, and the author's brilliantly sinister incarnation of strict, procedural wickedness – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's uncle, who faults her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the role of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is determined on using his fresh authority to expand the church's dominium. Another protagonist, who saved young Lyra to safety along a flooded river as an young boy in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in espionage: he is sent to the city to learn more about Delamare's aims. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and costly essential oil which manifests somehow to be the origin of a social and economic disturbance emanating out from that area. The substance is regarded by various factions as a marketable commodity, by others as a empirical or mystical phenomenon, and by others still – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its source, its meaning, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.

Similar to the first series, the heroine's deeds, and her future, are revealed to be deeply connected with the fate of the realm

In the previous volume, these plots ran largely in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. As in the first trilogy, Lyra's actions and her path are shown to be inextricably woven with the future of the world. Her personal mission to rejoin with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the key battleground in a larger war with an authoritarian government which, as such regimes often attempt, is attempting to quell freedom of reason, creativity and culture: all the internal, rebellious ways in which individuals can be liberated.

Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles

The novel starts with the unveiling of a collection of curious openings in the structure of the world's air: windows that appear to open into other worlds. One such window appears to be the point of the much debated botanical substance. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its head, classifies these windows as a problem to the institution's beliefs and sets out to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from rigid rationalism and return to instinct, yet, her conviction that these places must be preserved – that what they stand for and their value is somehow vital – increases. "Dust, or the extract, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a poetic tussle between naivety and experience is prepared.

Narrative Pacing and Character Development

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