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Tings are collapsing in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that appears, in this volume especially, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Organizations are failing, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from governments, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the vaults of corporations, the control of crowds. "Something is at work, very quietly, gradually", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his place in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and solid are faltering and giving way."

Core Enigma and Her Quest

Exactly what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that propels this final volume, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final foray into the elaborately built, deeply captivating world he first unveiled three decades past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose geography maps on to that of our world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and think and act like us, but are joined by external spirits, essences in beast form; where the heavens are filled with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, vehicles are taken and beverages is drunk, and older academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a child in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the prequel, the introductory book with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still distinctly the spiky and determined heroine of the earlier books, but aged, more sorrowful, more careful, more doubtful. This restraint is heightened by her split from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.

Converging Storylines

His choice to leave in quest of that youthful part of her which she appears to have shed (an quality which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with marvel and peril on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in action, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of rigid, procedural malice – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's family member, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of president of the authority's governing body, and is determined on using his fresh power to extend the institution's control. A key character, who carried baby Lyra to refuge along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in espionage: he is dispatched to a key location to find out more about his intentions. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and precious botanical extract which manifests in some way to be the source of a social and financial crisis emanating out from Central Asia. The substance is regarded by some as a tradeable product, by different parties as a empirical or esoteric wonder, and by others still – the extremist "highland figures" – as a origin of evil; an insult that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its source, what it stands for, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is escalating in importance.

Like His Dark Materials, the heroine's deeds, and her future, are shown to be inseparably connected with the fate of the world

In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran mostly in side by side. In the conclusion, they merge. As in His Dark Materials, her movements and her destiny are revealed to be inextricably linked with the fate of the universe. Her individual mission to reconnect with her soul and regain her imagination becomes the primary battleground in a larger conflict with an authoritarian system which, as these systems typically do, is attempting to suppress autonomy of thinking, innovation and culture: all the inner, rebellious ways in which humans can be independent.

Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts

The story starts with the discovery of a series of curious openings in the makeup of the world's sky: portals that seem to lead to other worlds. A particular portal appears to be the point of the highly contested botanical substance. The authority, with Delamare at its helm, classifies these openings as a problem to the church's doctrine and endeavors to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from strict rationalism and back to intuition, yet, her conviction that these sites must be defended – that what they stand for and what they offer is in some way essential – grows. "The substance, or the substance, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a philosophical tussle between purity and experience is prepared.

Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth

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