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Things are unraveling in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that seems, now more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along new and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from states, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the hands of mobs. "Something is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and durable are faltering and giving way."

Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey

Precisely what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that drives the concluding book, which continues where its predecessor left off. This is, according to many, Pullman's concluding venture into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating world he first revealed in the distant past, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of the real world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the people appear and reason and behave like us, but are joined by daemons, essences in animal form; where the air are filled with witches and mythical beasts, but underneath, vehicles are ridden and tea is drunk, and mature scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a child in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the first volume, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still distinctly the prickly and tenacious protagonist of the earlier books, but older, more sorrowful, warier, less certain. This restraint is heightened by her division from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.

Merging Narratives

Pan's decision to go off in quest of that youthful part of her which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he represents as her "creativity"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which chronicled Lyra undertake a picaresque trek across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with wonder and danger on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister incarnation of rigid, administrative malice – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's uncle, who blames her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the position of leader of the church's governing body, and is determined on using his newfound power to extend the institution's control. A key character, who carried infant Lyra to safety along a flooded river as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an university scholar with a sideline in intelligence work: he is assigned to the city to learn more about the antagonist's intentions. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and valuable botanical extract which appears mysteriously to be the origin of a social and financial upheaval emanating out from that area. The extract is seen by various factions as a marketable product, by others as a empirical or mystical phenomenon, and by others still – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a source of malevolence; an affront that must be destroyed. The question of its origins, its significance, and if it should be removed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.

As in the first series, Lyra's deeds, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inseparably connected with the future of the universe

In its predecessor, these narratives ran largely in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. Like His Dark Materials, the protagonist's movements and her fate are unveiled to be inseparably linked with the fate of the world. Her individual mission to reunite with her companion and regain her vision becomes the central struggle in a larger war with an authoritarian system which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to suppress independence of thought, innovation and expression: all the internal, defiant ways in which humans can be liberated.

Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles

The book starts with the unveiling of a set of curious cracks in the fabric of the planet's atmosphere: gateways that look to open into different dimensions. A particular portal seems to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with Delamare at its helm, labels these openings as a threat to the religion's doctrine and sets out to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from rigid reason and revert to feeling, yet, her conviction that these locations must be defended – that their meaning and what they provide is in some way crucial – increases. "Dust, or the extract, or the vision, or the field of roses, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a poetic tussle between naivety and experience is established.

Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution

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