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Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of Pullman's latest trilogy, the second of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that appears, here more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is draining from authorities, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the vaults of corporations, the grasp of mobs. "Something is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his place in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and solid are faltering and failing."

Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey

Just what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that propels the concluding book, which resumes where the previous book ended. This is, reportedly, the author's final excursion into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting world he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose geography maps on to that of this world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the people appear and reason and act like us, but are joined by external spirits, beings in beast form; where the air are filled with witches and gryphons, but below, buses are ridden and tea is consumed, and middle-aged academics carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the first volume, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still clearly the spiky and persistent main character of the earlier books, but aged, sadder, more cautious, less sure. This restraint is intensified by her split from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.

Merging Narratives

The daemon's resolve to go off in quest of that innocent part of her which she appears to have shed (an quality which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with marvel and peril on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in play, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the religious governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of austere, procedural wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's family member, who faults her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the role of president of the authority's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound influence to expand the church's dominium. A key character, who rescued baby Lyra to safety along a overflowing river as an child in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in spycraft: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about Delamare's plans. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and costly rose oil which seems in some way to be the origin of a social and financial disturbance rippling out from Central Asia. The oil is regarded by certain groups as a marketable product, by different parties as a research-based or esoteric miracle, and by yet others – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its source, its meaning, and if it should be removed or preserved is becoming urgent.

Similar to the first series, our protagonist's actions, and her fate, are shown to be deeply entwined with the fate of the universe

In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran largely in parallel. In the conclusion, they converge. Like the original series, the protagonist's choices and her destiny are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the future of the universe. Her personal journey to reunite with her companion and recover her imagination becomes the primary battleground in a wider conflict with an controlling regime which, as such authorities always have, is striving to suppress freedom of thought, innovation and expression: all the internal, defiant ways in which individuals can be independent.

Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles

The story opens with the unveiling of a series of curious openings in the fabric of the planet's atmosphere: portals that seem to open into other worlds. One such window seems to be the origin of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The church, with the antagonist at its leadership, designates these openings as a challenge to the institution's beliefs and endeavors to destroy them. As the heroine begins to shift from inflexible rationalism and return to intuition, yet, her certainty that these sites must be preserved – that what they stand for and what they offer is mysteriously essential – increases. "The substance, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a Blakean struggle between innocence and maturity is set.

Story Tempo and Personal Evolution

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