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Things are falling apart in the last installment of The Book of Dust, the second of the author's masterful trilogies set in a world that appears, now more than ever, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or restructuring themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is draining from states, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the grasp of crowds. "Something is at work, silently, gradually", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and durable are weakening and failing."

Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey

Exactly what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels the concluding book, which continues where the previous book concluded. This is, reportedly, the author's final venture into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling realm he first unveiled in the distant past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose landscape aligns with that of the real world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and think and act like us, but are joined by daemons, beings in animal form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and gryphons, but underneath, buses are taken and beverages is sipped, and mature academics carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which the author began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still recognisably the sharp and persistent main character of the prior volumes, but more mature, sadder, more careful, less certain. This circumscription is intensified by her division from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.

Converging Storylines

Pan's decision to go off in search of that childlike part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an quality which he represents as her "creativity"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and risk on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in action, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the religious governing authority, and the author's deliciously chilling representation of strict, bureaucratic wickedness – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's uncle, who blames her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the role of leader of the church's governing body, and is determined on using his recently acquired influence to expand the religion's rule. Another protagonist, who carried baby Lyra to safety along a overflowing Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a sideline in espionage: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about Delamare's aims. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and valuable essential oil which manifests somehow to be the source of a societal and financial disturbance emanating out from the region. The oil is viewed by certain groups as a commercial product, by alternate groups as a scientific or mystical miracle, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a source of darkness; an insult that must be destroyed. The question of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be removed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.

Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's actions, and her future, are revealed to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the realm

In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in parallel. In The Rose Field, they converge. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's movements and her fate are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the future of the realm. Her personal mission to reunite with her companion and recover her creativity becomes the primary battleground in a broader war with an authoritarian system which, as such authorities always have, is striving to suppress autonomy of thought, originality and art: all the internal, rebellious ways in which humans can be free.

Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles

The novel opens with the finding of a set of unusual cracks in the structure of the world's air: portals that seem to give on to alternate realities. A particular window manifests to be the point of the much debated botanical substance. The church, with its leader at its leadership, labels these openings as a threat to the institution's doctrine and aims to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to move from inflexible rationalism and back to instinct, nevertheless, her belief that these sites must be preserved – that their significance and what they offer is somehow essential – strengthens. "Dust, or rose oil, or the vision, or the field of roses, or whatever we name it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a poetic tussle between naivety and knowledge is established.

Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth

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