Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that appears, here more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along new and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from governments, and gathering in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the hands of crowds. "An element is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and strong are weakening and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which continues where the previous book ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's concluding excursion into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling world he first revealed three decades past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose geography aligns with that of our world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans appear and think and act like us, but are paired by daemons, beings in animal form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, transports are caught and beverages is consumed, and mature academics carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a child in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began the series, is now a young woman: still recognisably the sharp and determined heroine of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, warier, more doubtful. This restraint is amplified by her split from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to go off in search of that childlike part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with amazement and risk on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in action, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the church's ruling body, and Pullman's deliciously chilling representation of strict, procedural malice – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – our protagonist's relative, who faults her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of leader of the church's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his fresh power to broaden the religion's rule. A key character, who carried young 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 intelligence work: he is assigned to Geneva to find out more about Delamare's aims. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and valuable botanical extract which seems in some way to be the cause of a societal and financial upheaval emanating out from that area. The oil is regarded by various factions as a commercial commodity, by alternate groups as a research-based or spiritual phenomenon, and by others still – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of evil; an challenge that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its origins, its significance, and if it should be destroyed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
As in His Dark Materials, our protagonist's decisions, and her future, are shown to be inseparably connected with the destiny of the realm
In the previous volume, these narratives ran broadly in tandem. In this final book, they merge. Similar to His Dark Materials, the protagonist's movements and her destiny are shown to be inseparably entwined with the future of the universe. Her private quest to reunite with her companion and recover her creativity becomes the central conflict in a larger conflict with an authoritarian system which, as such authorities typically do, is seeking to quell autonomy of thought, originality and art: all the internal, rebellious ways in which humans can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The book begins with the discovery of a set of strange fissures in the makeup of the world's sky: windows that look to lead to other worlds. A particular opening appears to be the origin of the highly contested botanical substance. The authority, with its leader at its leadership, classifies these windows as a challenge to the institution's orthodoxy and aims to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to shift from inflexible reason and back to feeling, yet, her conviction that these sites must be preserved – that what they stand for and what they provide is in some way crucial – increases. "The substance, or the substance, or the vision, or the field of roses, or no matter what we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean tussle between innocence and maturity is established.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
