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Tings are falling apart in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that seems, here more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from authorities, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of business empires, the control of crowds. "An element is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and solid are deteriorating and giving way."

Key Puzzle and Her Quest

Just what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that animates the concluding book, which continues where the previous book left off. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final venture into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating universe he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose geography corresponds to that of our world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by daemons, souls in beast form; where the air are teeming with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but below, vehicles are caught and beverages is drunk, and older academics carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still recognisably the sharp and tenacious protagonist of the earlier books, but older, melancholic, more careful, less sure. This limitation is amplified by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.

Interwoven Plots

His choice to leave in search of that childlike part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous journey across the continent and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and peril on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the church's ruling body, and the author's deliciously chilling incarnation of austere, administrative evil – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's relative, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of leader of the Magisterium's High Council, and is set on using his fresh influence to extend the church's rule. A key character, who saved baby Lyra to refuge along a flooded river as an child in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is assigned to a key location to find out more about Delamare's intentions. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and precious botanical extract which seems somehow to be the source of a societal and financial upheaval rippling out from the region. The extract is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable product, by alternate groups as a research-based or spiritual phenomenon, and by yet others – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a source of darkness; an insult that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be destroyed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.

Similar to the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are demonstrated to be inseparably entwined with the future of the realm

In its predecessor, these narratives ran largely in tandem. In this final book, they merge. Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's movements and her fate are shown to be inseparably entwined with the fate of the universe. Her private journey to reconnect with her daemon and regain her creativity becomes the central conflict in a larger war with an controlling regime which, as such authorities often attempt, is striving to quell independence of reason, originality and expression: all the personal, defiant ways in which individuals can be free.

Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts

The novel starts with the unveiling of a series of curious cracks in the fabric of the Earth's air: gateways that seem to give on to different dimensions. One such window appears to be the point of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its leadership, classifies these openings as a challenge to the institution's doctrine and sets out to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to move from inflexible logic and return to feeling, however, her belief that these sites must be protected – that their meaning and what they provide is in some way vital – increases. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a Blakean tussle between innocence and maturity is established.

Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution

At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the