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Things are unraveling in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that seems, here more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reassembling themselves along new and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from governments, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of conglomerates, the control of crowds. "Something is at work, silently, very subtly", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his seat in an city cafe. "Things we thought were stable and durable are deteriorating and failing."

Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path

Precisely what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that drives this final volume, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, reportedly, the author's last excursion into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting universe he first introduced three decades past, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose landscape aligns with that of our world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans appear and think and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, essences in beast form; where the skies are populated with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, transports are taken and drinks is consumed, and older professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which Pullman began the series, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the sharp and determined main character of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, warier, less certain. This restraint is heightened by her split from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.

Merging Narratives

His choice to leave in quest of that youthful part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and peril on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in play, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister representation of strict, bureaucratic malice – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's uncle, who faults her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the office of president of the church's governing body, and is determined on using his newfound power to extend the institution's dominium. A key character, who rescued baby Lyra to security along a overflowing river as an young boy in the prequel, is now an academic with a secondary role in spycraft: he is dispatched to the city to learn more about the antagonist's aims. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and precious rose oil which manifests mysteriously to be the origin of a societal and economic crisis emanating out from the region. The substance is regarded by some as a commercial product, by others as a empirical or esoteric miracle, and by further factions – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of evil; an insult that must be destroyed. The question of its source, its meaning, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.

As in the first series, the heroine's deeds, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inextricably entwined with the fate of the realm

In its predecessor, these narratives ran mostly in tandem. In this final book, they merge. Similar to the original series, the protagonist's actions and her destiny are revealed to be inseparably woven with the future of the universe. Her individual quest to reunite with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the central struggle in a wider conflict with an controlling regime which, as these systems always have, is attempting to stifle freedom of reason, originality and expression: all the internal, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.

Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles

The story begins with the finding of a collection of strange openings in the structure of the Earth's sky: windows that appear to lead to different dimensions. One such window appears to be the source of the highly contested botanical substance. The authority, with the antagonist at its head, classifies these openings as a threat to the religion's doctrine and aims to destroy them. As Lyra begins to shift from rigid rationalism and return to instinct, yet, her certainty that these locations must be defended – that their meaning and what they provide is in some way vital – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a Blakean tussle between naivety and experience is established.

Story Tempo and Character Development

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