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Tings are unraveling in the last installment of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of the author's grand trilogies set in a world that appears, here more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from governments, and gathering in the offices of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the grasp of crowds. "Some force is at work, very quietly, gradually", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his place in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and solid are weakening and failing."

The Central Mystery and Her Quest

Just what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that drives the concluding book, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, according to many, the author's concluding venture into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting universe he first unveiled three decades past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose terrain corresponds to that of this world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the people look and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by daemons, essences in beast form; where the skies are teeming with witches and mythical beasts, but below, vehicles are taken and drinks is consumed, and older professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which the author began the series, is now a young woman: still distinctly the spiky and tenacious main character of the prior volumes, but aged, melancholic, more cautious, less certain. This restraint is heightened by her division from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.

Merging Narratives

Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that youthful part of her which she seems to have lost (an trait which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with wonder and peril on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in play, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the religious governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of rigid, administrative malice – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's family member, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the office of head of the church's High Council, and is intent on using his fresh influence to extend the religion's control. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued baby Lyra to security along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in spycraft: he is sent to the city to discover more about Delamare's aims. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and costly rose oil which appears in some way to be the origin of a social and economic upheaval emanating out from Central Asia. The substance is seen by certain groups as a tradeable good, by different parties as a scientific or esoteric miracle, and by yet others – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be eradicated. The issue of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be eliminated or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.

As in His Dark Materials, the heroine's deeds, and her future, are shown to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the universe

In its predecessor, these plots ran broadly in parallel. In this final book, they come together. Like the first trilogy, her movements and her fate are shown to be deeply linked with the fate of the realm. Her personal journey to reconnect with her soul and rediscover her vision becomes the central battleground in a broader conflict with an oppressive system which, as such regimes typically do, is striving to quell autonomy of reason, creativity and art: all the inner, defiant ways in which individuals can be free.

Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles

The story starts with the finding of a collection of curious openings in the fabric of the planet's atmosphere: gateways that appear to give on to alternate realities. A particular portal appears to be the source of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The church, with the antagonist at its helm, classifies these openings as a threat to the religion's doctrine and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to shift from rigid rationalism and revert to intuition, yet, her conviction that these locations must be protected – that what they stand for and what they offer is mysteriously vital – strengthens. "The substance, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a Blakean conflict between innocence and knowledge is established.

Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution

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