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Tings are unraveling in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that appears, here more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along new and troubling lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from governments, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the vaults of corporations, the control of mobs. "An element is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and durable are deteriorating and collapsing."

The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey

Precisely what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that propels the concluding book, which picks up where the previous book ended. This is, by all accounts, the author's final excursion into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting world he first introduced three decades past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose landscape maps on to that of the real world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by daemons, essences in beast form; where the skies are filled with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, buses are taken and beverages is drunk, and middle-aged academics carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which the author began the series, is now a young woman: still distinctly the sharp and tenacious main character of the previous installments, but aged, more sorrowful, warier, less sure. This circumscription is amplified by her separation from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.

Interwoven Plots

The daemon's resolve to leave in quest of that innocent part of her which she may have forgotten (an trait which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw the protagonist undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with wonder and risk on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the religious governing authority, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of austere, procedural wickedness – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. The antagonist – the heroine's family member, who blames her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the position of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is intent on using his recently acquired influence to extend the church's dominium. Another protagonist, who rescued baby the heroine to safety along a overflowing Thames as an child in the first book, is now an university scholar with a sideline in espionage: he is dispatched to a key location to learn more about the antagonist's intentions. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and valuable essential oil which manifests somehow to be the origin of a societal and financial disturbance rippling out from that area. The oil is viewed by various factions as a tradeable good, by others as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by others still – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a origin of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The question of its origins, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or protected is escalating in importance.

As in the original trilogy, our protagonist's decisions, and her future, are shown to be inseparably entwined with the fate of the universe

In the previous volume, these narratives ran largely in side by side. In this final book, they merge. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's movements and her destiny are revealed to be inseparably linked with the fate of the realm. Her personal mission to reconnect with her soul and regain her imagination becomes the central battleground in a broader battle with an authoritarian system which, as such authorities often attempt, is attempting to stifle autonomy of reason, creativity and expression: all the personal, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.

Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles

The story opens with the unveiling of a collection of curious fissures in the makeup of the world's atmosphere: portals that look to lead to different dimensions. A particular opening appears to be the point of the highly contested rose oil. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its leadership, labels these openings as a threat to the religion's doctrine and sets out to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to shift from strict reason and return to feeling, however, her belief that these sites must be defended – that what they stand for and what they offer is in some way crucial – increases. "The substance, or the substance, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a philosophical struggle between innocence and experience is prepared.

Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution

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