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Things are unraveling in the final volume of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that appears, here more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from authorities, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the grasp of crowds. "Some force is at work, silently, gradually", says merchant a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and durable are weakening and failing."

The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path

Just what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that drives the concluding book, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, according to many, the author's final foray into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating world he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose geography corresponds to that of this world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the humans look and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, essences in beast form; where the skies are populated with enchantresses and gryphons, but underneath, transports are caught and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still recognisably the spiky and persistent main character of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, more careful, less certain. This limitation is amplified by her split from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.

Merging Narratives

His choice to go off in search of that youthful part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an trait which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed Lyra undertake a picaresque trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with marvel and danger on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie embodiment of austere, administrative wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's family member, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of president of the church's High Council, and is intent on using his recently acquired authority to expand the religion's control. Malcolm Polstead, who saved young Lyra to refuge along a flooded Thames as an child in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is assigned to Geneva to find out more about the antagonist's intentions. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and costly essential oil which appears mysteriously to be the source of a social and economic upheaval spreading out from the region. The extract is viewed by some as a marketable good, by others as a empirical or spiritual wonder, and by further factions – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of darkness; an challenge that must be eradicated. The issue of its origins, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.

As in the first series, Lyra's actions, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be deeply connected with the fate of the universe

In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran broadly in parallel. In The Rose Field, they merge. As in the first trilogy, the protagonist's actions and her destiny are shown to be inseparably linked with the fate of the realm. Her personal mission to rejoin with her daemon and regain her imagination becomes the primary conflict in a wider conflict with an controlling system which, as these systems typically do, is striving to stifle independence of thought, creativity and expression: all the internal, rebellious ways in which individuals can be liberated.

Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles

The novel starts with the finding of a series of curious cracks in the structure of the world's sky: portals that seem to give on to alternate realities. A particular portal manifests to be the source of the highly contested botanical substance. The authority, with Delamare at its head, classifies these portals as a threat to the church's doctrine and endeavors to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from inflexible rationalism and revert to intuition, however, her conviction that these sites must be preserved – that their meaning and what they offer is mysteriously crucial – increases. "Dust, or the substance, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a poetic conflict between innocence and maturity is established.

Story Tempo and Personal Evolution

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