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Things are unraveling in the last installment of Pullman's latest trilogy, the next of the author's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, here more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along new and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from authorities, and pooling in the chambers of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the grasp of crowds. "Some force is at work, silently, very subtly", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and solid are faltering and failing."

The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path

Just what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that animates The Rose Field, which picks up where its predecessor left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last venture into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling realm he first introduced three decades past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of the real world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the people appear and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, beings in beast form; where the skies are teeming with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, vehicles are taken and beverages is sipped, and older academics carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which the author began the series, is now a young woman: still clearly the prickly and determined main character of the prior volumes, but more mature, more sorrowful, warier, more doubtful. This limitation is amplified by her division from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.

Converging Storylines

His choice to go off in quest of that innocent part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an trait which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a picaresque trek across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with amazement and risk on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the church's governing authority, and the author's deliciously chilling embodiment of strict, procedural wickedness – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. The antagonist – the heroine's uncle, who faults her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the office of leader of the authority's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his recently acquired influence to extend the institution's dominium. A key character, who carried young the heroine to safety along a overflowing Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is assigned to Geneva to discover more about Delamare's plans. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and precious rose oil which manifests in some way to be the origin of a societal and financial crisis emanating out from Central Asia. The extract is viewed by certain groups as a marketable commodity, by alternate groups as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by further factions – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of evil; an affront that must be eradicated. The issue of where it comes from, its meaning, and whether it should be removed or preserved is becoming urgent.

As in the original trilogy, Lyra's deeds, and her destiny, are revealed to be deeply linked with the fate of the world

In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran largely in parallel. In the conclusion, they come together. Similar to the first trilogy, the protagonist's movements and her path are revealed to be inseparably entwined with the fate of the realm. Her individual quest to reconnect with her companion and rediscover her imagination becomes the central battleground in a wider battle with an oppressive system which, as these systems typically do, is seeking to stifle autonomy of thinking, originality and expression: all the internal, defiant ways in which people can be independent.

Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts

The novel begins with the discovery of a series of curious openings in the structure of the world's air: gateways that appear to give on to alternate realities. A particular window appears to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its head, labels these windows as a threat to the church's orthodoxy and endeavors to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to shift from strict logic and revert to intuition, however, her belief that these places must be protected – that their meaning and what they provide is in some way essential – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the vision, or the field of roses, or no matter what we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a philosophical conflict between purity and knowledge is established.

Narrative Pacing and Character Development

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