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Things are collapsing in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that seems, in this volume especially, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or restructuring themselves along novel and troubling lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from authorities, and gathering in the halls of religious leaders, the vaults of business empires, the control of mobs. "Some force is at work, silently, very subtly", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his place in an city cafe. "Things we thought were stable and solid are deteriorating and failing."

Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path

Just what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that animates the concluding book, which picks up where the previous book ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last foray into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling realm he first introduced 30 years ago, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a world whose geography corresponds to that of the real world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the individuals appear and think and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, souls in beast form; where the skies are filled with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, transports are ridden and tea is consumed, and middle-aged academics carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still distinctly the prickly and determined heroine of the earlier books, but older, sadder, more cautious, less certain. This restraint is intensified by her split from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, 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 Lyra which she appears to have shed (an quality which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with marvel and danger on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the faith's ruling body, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of strict, procedural wickedness – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's family member, who faults her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of leader of the church's High Council, and is set on using his newfound power to expand the church's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who carried infant Lyra to security along a overflowing river as an child in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in espionage: he is assigned to Geneva to find out more about his intentions. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and costly rose oil which seems somehow to be the source of a societal and financial upheaval spreading out from Central Asia. The extract is regarded by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by different parties as a scientific or esoteric miracle, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a source of evil; an challenge that must be destroyed. The issue of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be destroyed or preserved is becoming urgent.

Like the first series, Lyra's actions, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inseparably linked with the fate of the realm

In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran largely in side by side. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the original series, Lyra's actions and her destiny are shown to be inextricably entwined with the future of the realm. Her private quest to reunite with her companion and regain her creativity becomes the key battleground in a wider war with an controlling system which, as these systems often attempt, is seeking to suppress autonomy of reason, innovation and expression: all the internal, defiant ways in which humans can be free.

Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles

The story begins with the discovery of a set of curious fissures in the makeup of the planet's air: portals that look to give on to different dimensions. One such portal appears to be the point of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The church, with the antagonist at its head, labels these openings as a challenge to the church's doctrine and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to shift from strict logic and return to feeling, however, her belief that these sites must be preserved – that their significance and their value is somehow vital – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a philosophical conflict between innocence and experience is set.

Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution

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