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Things are unraveling in the last installment of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that manifests, in this volume especially, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along novel and troubling lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from governments, and accumulating in the halls of theocrats, the vaults of conglomerates, the hands of mobs. "Something is at work, stealthily, gradually", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his place in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and solid are weakening and failing."

Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey

Precisely what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's last venture into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating universe he first introduced in the distant past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of this world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the individuals look and think and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, souls in beast form; where the heavens are filled with witches and legendary creatures, but below, transports are ridden and beverages is sipped, and older professors carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still clearly the spiky and persistent heroine of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, warier, less certain. This limitation is intensified by her split from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.

Merging Narratives

The daemon's resolve to leave in quest of that innocent part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an trait which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with wonder and peril on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the faith's governing authority, and the author's masterfully eerie embodiment of rigid, administrative wickedness – is under new leadership, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's relative, who faults her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the role of president of the church's High Council, and is set on using his recently acquired authority to expand the religion's control. A key character, who rescued young Lyra to security along a overflowing river as an child in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in espionage: he is assigned to the city to learn more about his plans. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and costly essential oil which appears somehow to be the source of a social and economic disturbance spreading out from the region. The extract is seen by certain groups as a commercial commodity, by alternate groups as a scientific or esoteric phenomenon, and by others still – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an affront that must be destroyed. The issue of where it comes from, its meaning, and if it should be eliminated or protected is escalating in importance.

Like the original trilogy, Lyra's actions, and her fate, are revealed to be deeply linked with the destiny of the world

In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's actions and her path are revealed to be inseparably entwined with the fate of the world. Her private journey to reunite with her daemon and recover her creativity becomes the central conflict in a broader conflict with an authoritarian system which, as such regimes often attempt, is striving to quell independence of thinking, creativity and art: all the inner, resistant ways in which people can be free.

Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts

The novel begins with the unveiling of a series of curious openings in the fabric of the world's atmosphere: portals that look to give on to different dimensions. An example of a portal appears to be the origin of the highly contested mystical extract. The authority, with Delamare at its leadership, designates these openings as a problem to the religion's doctrine and endeavors to eliminate them. As the heroine begins to shift from rigid rationalism and back to intuition, yet, her conviction that these locations must be defended – that their meaning and what they provide is somehow vital – grows. "Dust, or the extract, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a philosophical conflict between purity and maturity is established.

Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth

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