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Things are collapsing in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that manifests, now more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from authorities, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of business empires, the hands of rioters. "Some force is at work, stealthily, gradually", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and solid are deteriorating and failing."

Key Puzzle and Her Quest

Precisely what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that animates the concluding book, which picks up where its predecessor concluded. This is, by all accounts, the author's final venture into the elaborately built, deeply captivating realm he first unveiled in the distant past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a world whose geography corresponds to that of the real world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans appear and reason and act like us, but are paired by daemons, souls in beast form; where the heavens are populated with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but below, transports are ridden and beverages is sipped, and older professors carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a child in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began the series, is now a young woman: still distinctly the prickly and persistent main character of the prior volumes, but aged, more sorrowful, warier, less sure. This circumscription is intensified by her split from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.

Merging Narratives

His choice to depart in quest of that youthful part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an quality which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with amazement and peril on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in play, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the religious controlling power, and the author's deliciously chilling incarnation of rigid, procedural wickedness – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's uncle, who blames her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the position of president of the authority's governing body, and is set on using his newfound power to expand the religion's control. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued infant the heroine to refuge along a overflowing river as an young boy in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in intelligence work: he is dispatched to the city to learn more about the antagonist's plans. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and precious botanical extract which seems in some way to be the origin of a societal and financial upheaval rippling out from the region. The oil is seen by some as a marketable commodity, by alternate groups as a scientific or spiritual miracle, and by others still – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a source of malevolence; an insult that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its origins, what it stands for, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is becoming urgent.

As in the original trilogy, Lyra's decisions, and her fate, are shown to be inseparably entwined with the fate of the universe

In the previous volume, these narratives ran mostly in tandem. In The Rose Field, they converge. Similar to the original series, her actions and her path are revealed to be inextricably woven with the fate of the world. Her private mission to reconnect with her daemon and rediscover her imagination becomes the primary battleground in a larger conflict with an controlling government which, as these systems often attempt, is attempting to quell autonomy of reason, creativity and art: all the inner, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.

Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles

The novel starts with the finding of a series of curious cracks in the makeup of the planet's sky: gateways that appear to lead to different dimensions. An example of a window seems to be the source of the highly contested rose oil. The authority, with Delamare at its helm, classifies these openings as a challenge to the institution's doctrine and aims to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from inflexible rationalism and back to instinct, however, her certainty that these places must be preserved – that what they stand for and what they provide is mysteriously vital – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a philosophical tussle between purity and knowledge is established.

Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution

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