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Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a world that appears, in this volume especially, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Organizations are failing, or restructuring themselves along new and troubling lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is draining from states, and accumulating in the chambers of religious leaders, the coffers of corporations, the hands of rioters. "Some force is at work, very quietly, gradually", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and solid are weakening and collapsing."

The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path

Exactly what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that animates the concluding book, which picks up where its predecessor ended. This is, by all accounts, the author's final foray into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating world he first revealed in the distant past, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose landscape aligns with that of the real world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the people appear and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, souls in beast form; where the heavens are teeming with witches and gryphons, but underneath, transports are taken and tea is consumed, and middle-aged academics carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a child in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still distinctly the spiky and determined protagonist of the prior volumes, but more mature, more sorrowful, warier, less certain. This limitation is heightened by her split from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.

Merging Narratives

The daemon's resolve to go off in search of that childlike part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous journey across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the church's ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of austere, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's relative, who faults her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the role of head of the church's High Council, and is intent on using his recently acquired authority to broaden the religion's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who saved young Lyra to refuge along a overflowing Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is sent to a key location to discover more about Delamare's intentions. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and costly essential oil which seems somehow to be the source of a societal and economic crisis emanating out from the region. The extract is seen by various factions as a marketable product, by others as a scientific or spiritual miracle, and by others still – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be obliterated. The question of its source, its significance, and whether it should be removed or protected is becoming urgent.

Like His Dark Materials, the heroine's deeds, and her destiny, are shown to be inseparably linked with the fate of the realm

In its predecessor, these storylines ran largely in parallel. In The Rose Field, they come together. As in the original series, her choices and her fate are shown to be inextricably entwined with the fate of the world. Her private quest to reunite with her companion and recover her vision becomes the key struggle in a wider war with an oppressive regime which, as these systems typically do, is striving to stifle independence of thought, originality and culture: all the personal, rebellious ways in which individuals can be independent.

Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles

The novel starts with the unveiling of a series of strange fissures in the structure of the planet's atmosphere: gateways that look to open into other worlds. One such window manifests to be the origin of the highly contested botanical substance. The church, with the antagonist at its head, classifies these portals as a challenge to the church's doctrine and aims to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to move from rigid reason and revert to instinct, nevertheless, her conviction that these sites must be preserved – that their meaning and their value is mysteriously essential – grows. "Dust, or the substance, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a poetic tussle between purity and knowledge is set.

Story Tempo and Character Development

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