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Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a realm that appears, now more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from governments, and pooling in the offices of religious leaders, the vaults of corporations, the control of mobs. "Something is at work, silently, gradually", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the Silk Roads from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and durable are faltering and collapsing."

Core Enigma and Her Quest

Precisely what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that drives The Rose Field, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last excursion into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating realm he first revealed in the distant past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose landscape aligns with that of this world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the individuals appear and think and behave like us, but are joined by animal souls, essences in creature form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, vehicles are caught and drinks is consumed, and older scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still recognisably the sharp and tenacious protagonist of the previous installments, but aged, more sorrowful, more cautious, less certain. This limitation is intensified by her division from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.

Converging Storylines

Pan's decision to go off in quest of that childlike part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an quality which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which followed Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and danger on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of austere, administrative wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the role of president of the church's governing body, and is intent on using his recently acquired authority to broaden the religion's rule. Another protagonist, who rescued infant Lyra to refuge along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a sideline in espionage: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about his aims. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and costly essential oil which appears in some way to be the origin of a social and economic disturbance emanating out from that area. The extract is regarded by certain groups as a commercial good, by alternate groups as a research-based or spiritual miracle, and by yet others – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of darkness; an affront that must be destroyed. The question of its source, its significance, and whether it should be removed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.

Like His Dark Materials, the heroine's decisions, and her fate, are shown to be deeply connected with the destiny of the universe

In the previous volume, these storylines ran largely in side by side. In the conclusion, they converge. Like the first trilogy, the protagonist's movements and her fate are unveiled to be inseparably linked with the fate of the world. Her personal quest to reconnect with her daemon and regain her vision becomes the key struggle in a broader battle with an authoritarian government which, as these systems typically do, is attempting to quell autonomy of reason, innovation and culture: all the internal, resistant ways in which individuals can be liberated.

Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles

The book opens with the unveiling of a series of strange cracks in the makeup of the planet's air: windows that seem to open into other worlds. A particular window appears to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The authority, with Delamare at its head, designates these openings as a threat to the religion's beliefs and sets out to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from rigid reason and back to feeling, however, her certainty that these places must be defended – that their significance and what they provide is mysteriously essential – increases. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean tussle between innocence and knowledge is prepared.

Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth

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