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Tings are falling apart in the last installment of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that manifests, here more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along new and troubling 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 shifting from governments, and pooling in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of business empires, the control of crowds. "Some force is at work, silently, gradually", says businessman a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and durable are weakening and collapsing."

The Central Mystery and Her Quest

Precisely what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that drives the concluding book, which continues where its predecessor ended. This is, according to many, the author's final venture into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling world he first revealed 30 years ago, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a world whose terrain aligns with that of this world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and think and act like us, but are paired by daemons, essences in creature form; where the heavens are filled with witches and legendary creatures, but below, vehicles are taken and tea is consumed, and mature academics carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the prequel, the origin story with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still distinctly the prickly and tenacious protagonist of the earlier books, but more mature, more sorrowful, more cautious, more doubtful. This limitation is amplified by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.

Interwoven Plots

Pan's decision to go off in pursuit of that youthful part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he represents as her "imagination"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with amazement and danger on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in action, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the religious controlling power, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of austere, procedural wickedness – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's uncle, who faults her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the office of head of the Magisterium's governing body, and is determined on using his recently acquired power to broaden the institution's dominium. Another protagonist, who carried baby 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 intelligence work: he is sent to Geneva to find out more about the antagonist's intentions. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and costly essential oil which appears somehow to be the source of a societal and economic crisis rippling out from the region. The extract is viewed by some as a commercial commodity, by others as a empirical or spiritual miracle, and by others still – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of malevolence; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its source, its significance, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.

Like His Dark Materials, our protagonist's decisions, and her future, are revealed to be deeply connected with the future of the realm

In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in side by side. In this final book, they merge. As in His Dark Materials, Lyra's actions and her path are shown to be deeply entwined with the future of the world. Her individual quest to reunite with her daemon and regain her creativity becomes the central conflict in a broader war with an controlling system which, as these systems always have, is attempting to suppress freedom of reason, creativity and art: all the inner, defiant ways in which people can be independent.

Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles

The novel opens with the finding of a collection of strange fissures in the fabric of the Earth's air: gateways that seem to give on to different dimensions. A particular opening seems to be the origin of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The Magisterium, with its leader at its leadership, classifies these windows as a challenge to the church's beliefs and sets out to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to turn away from inflexible reason and revert to instinct, nevertheless, her conviction that these places must be protected – that their significance and what they offer is in some way crucial – strengthens. "The substance, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a philosophical tussle between naivety and experience is established.

Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth

At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the