Things are collapsing in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, in this volume especially, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or restructuring themselves along novel and troubling lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is draining from authorities, and pooling in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of corporations, the grasp of crowds. "Something is at work, stealthily, gradually", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were secure and durable are weakening and failing."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Just what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that drives the concluding book, which picks up where its predecessor left off. This is, according to many, Pullman's last venture into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating universe he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose terrain aligns with that of this world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the people appear and reason and act like us, but are joined by external spirits, essences in creature form; where the air are teeming with witches and mythical beasts, but underneath, vehicles are caught and drinks is sipped, and older scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still clearly the sharp and tenacious protagonist of the previous installments, but more mature, more sorrowful, more careful, less sure. This limitation is heightened by her separation from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that youthful part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an quality which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with wonder and peril on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in motion, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie representation of rigid, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's relative, who blames her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the role of head of the Magisterium's governing body, and is determined on using his newfound power to broaden the religion's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued young Lyra to refuge along a flooded Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is sent to the city to find out more about Delamare's plans. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and costly rose oil which seems somehow to be the origin of a societal and financial upheaval rippling out from that area. The extract is seen by certain groups as a tradeable product, by others as a empirical or mystical wonder, and by further factions – the zealous "highland figures" – as a origin of darkness; an affront that must be destroyed. The dilemma of where it comes from, its significance, and whether it should be removed or protected is escalating in importance.
As in the first series, our protagonist's decisions, and her destiny, are revealed to be deeply linked with the destiny of the realm
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they come together. As in the original series, Lyra's movements and her fate are unveiled to be deeply woven with the destiny of the world. Her personal quest to reunite with her companion and regain her vision becomes the key struggle in a wider battle with an oppressive government which, as such regimes often attempt, is attempting to quell autonomy of thinking, originality and culture: all the inner, defiant ways in which people can be free.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The book begins with the discovery of a set of unusual openings in the fabric of the world's air: windows that appear to lead to alternate realities. A particular window manifests to be the point of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its helm, labels these windows as a threat to the church's orthodoxy and sets out to eliminate them. As the heroine begins to shift from rigid reason and return to instinct, nevertheless, her conviction that these sites must be defended – that what they stand for and what they offer is somehow vital – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a philosophical struggle between purity and maturity is set.
Story Tempo and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
