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Things are unraveling in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that manifests, here more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or reassembling themselves along new and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from authorities, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the control of crowds. "Some force is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and solid are faltering and giving way."

Core Enigma and Her Quest

Precisely what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that animates the concluding book, which picks up where the previous book left off. This is, according to many, Pullman's concluding excursion into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling world he first revealed three decades past, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose terrain maps on to that of the real world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and think and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, souls in creature form; where the air are filled with enchantresses and gryphons, but below, buses are taken and drinks is consumed, and older professors carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a mature individual: still clearly the prickly and determined main character of the prior volumes, but more mature, sadder, more cautious, less certain. This restraint is amplified by her separation from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.

Merging Narratives

His choice to depart in search of that innocent part of her which she seems to have lost (an quality which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a picaresque voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with wonder and danger on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister incarnation of austere, procedural evil – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's relative, who blames her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of president of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is set on using his fresh authority to extend the church's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued infant the heroine to refuge along a flooded Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in spycraft: he is dispatched to the city to discover more about Delamare's aims. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and costly botanical extract which manifests in some way to be the source of a societal and financial disturbance emanating out from that area. The substance is seen by certain groups as a marketable good, by alternate groups as a empirical or spiritual miracle, and by yet others – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a source of darkness; an insult that must be obliterated. The question of its source, its meaning, and whether it should be eliminated or protected is escalating in importance.

As in the first series, Lyra's actions, and her destiny, are revealed to be inseparably entwined with the destiny of the world

In the previous volume, these plots ran broadly in parallel. In this final book, they merge. Like the original series, her movements and her destiny are shown to be inextricably woven with the future of the world. Her private journey to reunite with her daemon and regain her creativity becomes the key conflict in a larger battle with an oppressive system which, as these systems always have, is striving to stifle freedom of thinking, innovation and expression: all the inner, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.

Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles

The story begins with the discovery of a series of unusual fissures in the structure of the Earth's atmosphere: windows that look to lead to other worlds. A particular window manifests to be the source of the much debated botanical substance. The church, with its leader at its leadership, labels these openings as a threat to the religion's orthodoxy and aims to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to move from inflexible rationalism and revert to intuition, yet, her certainty that these locations must be preserved – that their meaning and what they provide is somehow vital – increases. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or whatever we label it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a poetic struggle between purity and experience is set.

Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth

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