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Things are collapsing in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a world that appears, in this volume especially, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or reassembling themselves along new and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from states, and pooling in the offices of religious leaders, the coffers of business empires, the hands of crowds. "Something is at work, very quietly, gradually", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and solid are weakening and giving way."

The Central Mystery and Her Quest

Just what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that animates this final volume, which continues where its predecessor ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's concluding venture into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling universe he first unveiled three decades past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose terrain corresponds to that of our world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the individuals appear and think and act like us, but are paired by daemons, souls in animal form; where the heavens are teeming with enchantresses and gryphons, but underneath, vehicles are taken and drinks is sipped, and older professors carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a child in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the prequel, the origin story with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still distinctly the sharp and tenacious heroine of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, more careful, less certain. This restraint is amplified by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.

Interwoven Plots

Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that innocent part of her which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque trek across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with amazement and danger on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in motion, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the church's ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie incarnation of strict, bureaucratic evil – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – the heroine's relative, who faults her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of leader of the Magisterium's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound authority to extend the church's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued infant the heroine to safety along a flooded river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a sideline in spycraft: he is assigned to the city to learn more about Delamare's aims. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and precious essential oil which manifests in some way to be the source of a social and financial disturbance spreading out from the region. The oil is viewed by some as a marketable product, by different parties as a empirical or esoteric phenomenon, and by yet others – the extremist "highland figures" – as a origin of darkness; an insult that must be destroyed. The question of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be destroyed or protected is escalating in importance.

Like the original trilogy, our protagonist's deeds, and her destiny, are shown to be inseparably entwined with the future of the realm

In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran broadly in parallel. In this final book, they converge. Similar to the first trilogy, her actions and her fate are shown to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the world. Her personal quest to reunite with her soul and rediscover her imagination becomes the key conflict in a wider battle with an authoritarian government which, as such regimes typically do, is seeking to suppress freedom of thought, creativity and culture: all the personal, defiant ways in which humans can be liberated.

Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts

The story begins with the unveiling of a set of curious openings in the structure of the planet's sky: windows that seem to lead to other worlds. A particular portal appears to be the origin of the much debated botanical substance. The church, with the antagonist at its leadership, designates these portals as a challenge to the institution's orthodoxy and endeavors to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from rigid rationalism and revert to instinct, yet, her certainty that these locations must be protected – that their meaning and their value is in some way vital – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a poetic conflict between innocence and experience is prepared.

Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution

At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the