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Things are collapsing in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's masterful trilogies set in a universe that seems, in this volume especially, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along novel and troubling lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from states, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the vaults of conglomerates, the hands of mobs. "Something is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and strong are deteriorating and failing."

Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey

Exactly what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that drives this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor concluded. This is, according to many, Pullman's final foray into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling universe he first introduced three decades past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose landscape aligns with that of this world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans appear and think and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, beings in creature form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and gryphons, but underneath, buses are caught and tea is sipped, and mature scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a child in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still clearly the spiky and tenacious main character of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, more careful, less sure. This restraint is intensified by her split from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.

Interwoven Plots

Pan's decision to depart in search of that youthful part of her which she seems to have lost (an quality which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a adventurous journey across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with amazement and danger on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in play, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie embodiment of austere, administrative evil – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – the heroine's family member, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of president of the church's High Council, and is set on using his newfound authority to broaden the church's rule. A key character, who saved infant Lyra to security along a overflowing river as an child in the prequel, is now an academic with a sideline in spycraft: he is dispatched to the city to discover more about the antagonist's aims. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and costly botanical extract which appears in some way to be the source of a societal and economic disturbance spreading out from Central Asia. The oil is viewed by certain groups as a marketable commodity, by different parties as a research-based or esoteric phenomenon, and by yet others – the extremist "highland figures" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be obliterated. The issue of its source, its meaning, and if it should be destroyed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.

Similar to the first series, our protagonist's decisions, and her future, are revealed to be inseparably connected with the destiny of the world

In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran broadly in side by side. In this final book, they converge. Similar to the original series, the protagonist's choices and her path are unveiled to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the world. Her individual journey to reunite with her soul and regain her imagination becomes the central conflict in a wider war with an controlling regime which, as these systems always have, is striving to suppress independence of thought, creativity and expression: all the internal, resistant ways in which people can be free.

Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles

The story opens with the unveiling of a collection of unusual openings in the makeup of the world's atmosphere: portals that seem to open into different dimensions. A particular window appears to be the source of the much debated mystical extract. The authority, with the antagonist at its leadership, labels these openings as a threat to the church's doctrine and endeavors to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from rigid logic and return to intuition, yet, her conviction that these sites must be protected – that what they stand for and what they offer is in some way essential – strengthens. "The substance, or the extract, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a Blakean conflict between innocence and maturity is set.

Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth

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