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Tings are collapsing in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the next of the author's masterful trilogies set in a realm that seems, here more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is draining from governments, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the vaults of business empires, the grasp of crowds. "Something is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says trader a merchant figure, 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 giving way."

The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path

Just what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final foray into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling realm he first introduced 30 years ago, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose geography maps on to that of our world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the people appear and reason and behave like us, but are joined by daemons, essences in beast form; where the air are filled with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, transports are caught and tea is sipped, and mature scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which Pullman began the series, is now a young woman: still recognisably the spiky and determined main character of the previous installments, but more mature, sadder, more cautious, less sure. This restraint is amplified by her division from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.

Converging Storylines

His choice to leave in pursuit of that innocent part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an trait which he represents as her "creativity"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a adventurous journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with marvel and danger on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in play, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister incarnation of rigid, administrative evil – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's uncle, who faults her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the role of president of the church's governing body, and is intent on using his newfound authority to broaden the religion's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued infant the heroine to refuge along a flooded river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in espionage: he is sent to the city to discover more about the antagonist's plans. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and precious botanical extract which appears somehow to be the source of a social and economic disturbance emanating out from the region. The substance is seen by some as a tradeable product, by others as a empirical or mystical wonder, and by further factions – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a origin of darkness; an insult that must be eradicated. The issue of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be destroyed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.

Like the original trilogy, our protagonist's actions, and her fate, are revealed to be inseparably linked with the fate of the realm

In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in parallel. In The Rose Field, they merge. Similar to the first trilogy, the protagonist's movements and her path are shown to be deeply woven with the future of the realm. Her personal journey to rejoin with her companion and regain her imagination becomes the central struggle in a wider battle with an authoritarian regime which, as such regimes often attempt, is attempting to stifle independence of thought, creativity and culture: all the inner, defiant ways in which humans can be independent.

Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts

The novel begins with the unveiling of a set of strange cracks in the fabric of the planet's air: portals that look to lead to other worlds. An example of a portal appears to be the point of the highly contested botanical substance. The church, with the antagonist at its helm, labels these portals as a challenge to the institution's orthodoxy and endeavors to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to shift from inflexible logic and back to intuition, yet, her belief that these locations must be defended – that what they stand for and what they offer is somehow crucial – increases. "The substance, or the extract, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a Blakean conflict between innocence and experience is prepared.

Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution

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