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Tings are collapsing in the final volume of The Book of Dust, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that appears, in this volume especially, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or restructuring themselves along new and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from authorities, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the vaults of corporations, the hands of crowds. "Some force is at work, stealthily, gradually", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were firm and durable are deteriorating and giving way."

The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey

Just what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that drives this final volume, which picks up where the previous book left off. This is, according to many, the author's final excursion into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating universe he first revealed 30 years ago, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose terrain maps on to that of the real world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and reason and behave like us, but are joined by daemons, essences in beast form; where the air are populated with witches and gryphons, but below, transports are taken and beverages is drunk, and older academics carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which the author began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still clearly the sharp and persistent main character of the previous installments, but aged, melancholic, warier, less certain. This restraint is intensified by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.

Merging Narratives

Pan's decision to depart in quest of that youthful part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an quality which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which chronicled Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with wonder and risk on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie embodiment of rigid, administrative wickedness – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of president of the authority's governing body, and is intent on using his recently acquired power to broaden the religion's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who carried infant Lyra to security along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in espionage: he is assigned to Geneva to learn more about Delamare's aims. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and precious essential oil which appears mysteriously to be the cause of a societal and financial upheaval emanating out from Central Asia. The oil is seen by certain groups as a tradeable product, by different parties as a empirical or esoteric wonder, and by others still – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a origin of malevolence; an insult that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is becoming urgent.

Similar to the first series, the heroine's decisions, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the realm

In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran largely in tandem. In the conclusion, they merge. Like His Dark Materials, Lyra's movements and her destiny are revealed to be inextricably woven with the fate of the realm. Her private mission to reunite with her soul and regain her creativity becomes the primary battleground in a broader battle with an oppressive system which, as such regimes often attempt, is striving to suppress autonomy of thinking, creativity and culture: all the personal, resistant ways in which humans can be free.

Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts

The book starts with the finding of a collection of curious openings in the makeup of the planet's air: gateways that appear to open into alternate realities. A particular portal appears to be the source of the much debated rose oil. The church, with Delamare at its head, designates these portals as a challenge to the institution's doctrine and sets out to destroy them. As Lyra begins to shift from rigid logic and return to intuition, yet, her belief that these places must be preserved – that what they stand for and what they provide is in some way essential – increases. "The substance, or the extract, or the vision, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a poetic struggle between innocence and maturity is established.

Narrative Pacing and Character Development

At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the