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Things are unraveling in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that appears, now more than ever, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reassembling themselves along new and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is draining from governments, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the hands of rioters. "Some force is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and solid are faltering and giving way."

The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path

Exactly what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which picks up where the previous book left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding venture into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling realm he first unveiled in the distant past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose geography corresponds to that of the real world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans appear and reason and act like us, but are paired by daemons, souls in animal form; where the air are populated with witches and legendary creatures, but below, transports are caught and drinks is sipped, and middle-aged professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the sharp and determined heroine of the earlier books, but older, melancholic, more cautious, less sure. This circumscription is heightened by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.

Converging Storylines

The daemon's resolve to depart in quest of that youthful part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an quality which he represents as her "imagination"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with wonder and danger on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in play, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the faith's controlling power, and the author's brilliantly sinister embodiment of austere, procedural malice – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's family member, who faults her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the position of president of the authority's governing body, and is set on using his fresh influence to expand the religion's rule. Another protagonist, who carried infant Lyra to refuge along a flooded river as an child in the first book, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is assigned to a key location to learn more about the antagonist's intentions. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and valuable botanical extract which seems somehow to be the cause of a societal and economic crisis emanating out from the region. The oil is viewed by certain groups as a tradeable good, by different parties as a research-based or esoteric miracle, and by yet others – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a source of evil; an challenge that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be destroyed or preserved is escalating in importance.

Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's deeds, and her fate, are shown to be inseparably connected with the fate of the realm

In its predecessor, these narratives ran broadly in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. As in His Dark Materials, Lyra's actions and her fate are revealed to be inextricably woven with the fate of the universe. Her personal mission to reunite with her soul and regain her imagination becomes the primary battleground in a broader battle with an authoritarian regime which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to suppress autonomy of thought, originality and expression: all the internal, rebellious ways in which individuals can be free.

Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles

The book begins with the unveiling of a set of curious openings in the fabric of the Earth's atmosphere: windows that seem to give on to alternate realities. An example of a opening seems to be the source of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The church, with its leader at its head, labels these openings as a challenge to the church's orthodoxy and endeavors to destroy them. As Lyra begins to move from inflexible reason and revert to instinct, yet, her belief that these locations must be preserved – that their significance and what they offer is mysteriously crucial – grows. "Dust, or rose oil, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or whatever we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a philosophical tussle between naivety and maturity is established.

Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth

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