Tings are falling apart in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a universe that seems, in this volume especially, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reassembling themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from authorities, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, silently, very subtly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were secure and solid are weakening and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Exactly what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final venture into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting realm he first introduced three decades past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a world whose landscape aligns with that of this world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the humans appear and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, souls in beast form; where the skies are filled with witches and legendary creatures, but below, buses are caught and tea is drunk, and mature academics carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still clearly the sharp and determined protagonist of the previous installments, but older, more sorrowful, more careful, more doubtful. This circumscription is heightened by her division from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to leave in search of that childlike part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an trait which he represents as her "imagination"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across the continent and into the mountain region, facing with amazement and danger on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister representation of rigid, procedural malice – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's uncle, who faults her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the office of head of the church's High Council, and is determined on using his recently acquired influence to broaden the religion's rule. Another protagonist, who rescued young Lyra to security along a flooded river as an young boy in the first book, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in spycraft: he is dispatched to a key location to find out more about his intentions. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and precious rose oil which appears mysteriously to be the cause of a social and economic upheaval emanating out from that area. The oil is seen by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by alternate groups as a research-based or mystical wonder, and by others still – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of evil; an insult that must be obliterated. The issue of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be destroyed or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
As in the first series, Lyra's decisions, and her fate, are shown to be inseparably entwined with the destiny of the realm
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in side by side. In the conclusion, they converge. As in the original series, her choices and her path are unveiled to be inseparably linked with the future of the world. Her individual quest to reconnect with her soul and rediscover her vision becomes the primary battleground in a larger war with an controlling system which, as these systems always have, is seeking to suppress autonomy of reason, originality and art: all the inner, resistant ways in which individuals can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The novel opens with the discovery of a collection of strange fissures in the makeup of the Earth's sky: portals that appear to lead to different dimensions. An example of a opening manifests to be the point of the much debated rose oil. The authority, with the antagonist at its leadership, designates these windows as a problem to the religion's doctrine and aims to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to shift from inflexible logic and revert to feeling, nevertheless, her conviction that these places must be defended – that what they stand for and what they provide is somehow essential – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or no matter what we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a poetic tussle between purity and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
