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Things are unraveling in the concluding book of The Book of Dust, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a realm that seems, here more than ever, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from states, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the coffers of conglomerates, the control of crowds. "An element is at work, stealthily, gradually", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were stable and strong are deteriorating and failing."

The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path

Exactly what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that animates the concluding book, which continues where the previous book concluded. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final foray into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating world he first unveiled in the distant past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a world whose terrain corresponds to that of this world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the people look and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, souls in beast form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and gryphons, but below, transports are taken and beverages is drunk, and mature scholars carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a mature individual: still clearly the sharp and tenacious protagonist of the previous installments, but aged, sadder, more careful, less sure. This circumscription is heightened by her separation from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.

Converging Storylines

Pan's decision to leave in quest of that innocent part of her which she appears to have shed (an quality which he represents as her "vision"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with amazement and danger on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling representation of strict, administrative wickedness – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's family member, who faults her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the position of president of the church's governing body, and is intent on using his fresh power to extend the religion's dominium. Another protagonist, who rescued baby the heroine to security along a overflowing river as an child in the first book, is now an university scholar with a sideline in intelligence work: he is sent to the city to find out more about Delamare's aims. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and valuable rose oil which manifests in some way to be the origin of a social and economic disturbance emanating out from that area. The substance is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable commodity, by alternate groups as a empirical or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a source of malevolence; an insult that must be obliterated. The dilemma of where it comes from, what it stands for, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is becoming urgent.

Similar to the original trilogy, our protagonist's decisions, and her destiny, are shown to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the universe

In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in tandem. In the conclusion, they come together. As in His Dark Materials, the protagonist's choices and her path are shown to be inextricably woven with the fate of the realm. Her individual journey to reconnect with her soul and recover her vision becomes the central struggle in a broader battle with an controlling government which, as such authorities typically do, is striving to quell autonomy of thought, innovation and culture: all the personal, defiant ways in which people can be free.

Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles

The novel opens with the discovery of a collection of unusual fissures in the fabric of the planet's sky: portals that look to lead to alternate realities. An example of a opening seems to be the source of the highly contested mystical extract. The church, with the antagonist at its head, classifies these portals as a threat to the religion's doctrine and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from inflexible rationalism and return to instinct, nevertheless, her conviction that these locations must be preserved – that their meaning and their value is mysteriously essential – increases. "Dust, or the substance, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a Blakean conflict between naivety and experience is prepared.

Story Tempo and Character Development

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