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Tings are falling apart in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that seems, in this volume especially, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reassembling themselves along novel and troubling lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is draining from authorities, and gathering in the offices of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the control of rioters. "An element is at work, stealthily, gradually", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and strong are deteriorating and giving way."

Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path

Precisely what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that propels this final volume, which continues where its predecessor ended. This is, reportedly, the author's last excursion into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating universe he first revealed 30 years ago, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose terrain corresponds to that of our world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans appear and think and act like us, but are paired by daemons, essences in beast form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, vehicles are ridden and tea is sipped, and middle-aged academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in the prequel, the introductory book with which the author began this trilogy, is now a adult: still clearly the prickly and determined protagonist of the earlier books, but aged, melancholic, more careful, less sure. This limitation is amplified by her split from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.

Merging Narratives

Pan's decision to go off in quest of that innocent part of her which she appears to have shed (an trait which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with wonder and danger on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the church's controlling power, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of strict, administrative malice – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's uncle, who blames her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is intent on using his recently acquired influence to broaden the church's control. A key character, who saved infant the heroine to safety along a swollen Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in spycraft: he is sent to a key location to discover more about his plans. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and costly botanical extract which appears in some way to be the source of a societal and financial upheaval rippling out from the region. The substance is regarded by various factions as a commercial commodity, by others as a scientific or esoteric wonder, and by further factions – the zealous "highland figures" – as a origin of malevolence; an challenge that must be destroyed. The issue of its source, its meaning, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.

Like the first series, Lyra's actions, and her fate, are shown to be inseparably connected with the destiny of the world

In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran largely in tandem. In this final book, they merge. Similar to the original series, Lyra's actions and her destiny are shown to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the realm. Her individual quest to rejoin with her companion and rediscover her imagination becomes the central conflict in a wider war with an authoritarian regime which, as such regimes always have, is striving to suppress freedom of reason, originality and culture: all the inner, rebellious ways in which humans can be free.

Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles

The book begins with the unveiling of a set of unusual cracks in the structure of the world's air: gateways that seem to open into different dimensions. A particular window appears to be the point of the much debated botanical substance. The authority, with the antagonist at its leadership, classifies these windows as a threat to the institution's doctrine and aims to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from rigid reason and return to feeling, nevertheless, her belief that these sites must be defended – that their meaning and what they provide is somehow vital – increases. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a philosophical conflict between naivety and knowledge is prepared.

Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution

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