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Tings are collapsing in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of the author's masterful trilogies set in a world that appears, in this volume especially, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reassembling themselves along new and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is draining from states, and gathering in the chambers of religious leaders, the vaults of corporations, the hands of mobs. "An element is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and solid are deteriorating and failing."

The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey

Just what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that drives this final volume, which continues where its predecessor ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding venture into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling universe he first revealed three decades past, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose terrain corresponds to that of this world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the humans look and reason and behave like us, but are joined by daemons, beings in animal form; where the heavens are populated with enchantresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, transports are ridden and tea is sipped, and middle-aged scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a child in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still recognisably the spiky and persistent protagonist of the previous installments, but aged, melancholic, more careful, more doubtful. This restraint is amplified by her split from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.

Interwoven Plots

Pan's decision to depart in quest of that youthful part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an trait which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which saw Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with marvel and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the church's ruling body, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of rigid, bureaucratic malice – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's relative, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of head of the authority's High Council, and is determined on using his fresh power to broaden the religion's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued infant the heroine to security along a flooded river as an young boy in the first book, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is sent to Geneva to find out more about the antagonist's intentions. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and precious botanical extract which appears in some way to be the source of a societal and economic disturbance emanating out from that area. The extract is regarded by various factions as a marketable good, by alternate groups as a empirical or mystical miracle, and by yet others – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a origin of evil; an challenge that must be eradicated. The issue of its origins, what it stands for, and whether it should be removed or protected is becoming urgent.

Like the original trilogy, the heroine's decisions, and her future, are demonstrated to be inextricably entwined with the fate of the world

In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran broadly in parallel. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the original series, her actions and her fate are shown to be deeply entwined with the future of the realm. Her personal quest to reunite with her soul and regain her imagination becomes the primary battleground in a broader conflict with an oppressive system which, as these systems always have, is attempting to quell independence of reason, creativity and art: all the internal, resistant ways in which people can be liberated.

Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts

The story opens with the unveiling of a series of curious cracks in the makeup of the planet's air: portals that appear to give on to other worlds. A particular portal manifests to be the origin of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its leadership, designates these portals as a threat to the religion's orthodoxy and sets out to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from strict logic and back to intuition, yet, her certainty that these places must be preserved – that their significance and what they offer is somehow vital – increases. "The substance, or rose oil, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a Blakean conflict between naivety and knowledge is set.

Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution

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