Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of the author's masterful trilogies set in a universe that appears, here more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reassembling themselves along new and troubling lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from authorities, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the control of rioters. "An element is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and solid are deteriorating and giving way."
The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path
Just what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that animates this final volume, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last foray into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling world he first introduced 30 years ago, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose geography aligns with that of our world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals look and reason and act like us, but are paired by daemons, beings in beast form; where the skies are populated with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but below, vehicles are caught and tea is consumed, and older scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the sharp and tenacious protagonist of the earlier books, but aged, more sorrowful, more careful, more doubtful. This circumscription is amplified by her split from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to depart in search of that innocent part of her which she seems to have lost (an trait which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which chronicled Lyra undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with marvel and risk on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the faith's ruling body, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister representation of austere, administrative evil – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's uncle, who blames her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of leader of the Magisterium's High Council, and is determined on using his newfound influence to expand the institution's dominium. A key character, who rescued baby the heroine to refuge along a overflowing Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is sent to a key location to learn more about Delamare's plans. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and valuable botanical extract which manifests somehow to be the cause of a social and economic upheaval spreading out from the region. The substance is regarded by certain groups as a marketable product, by others as a research-based or esoteric phenomenon, and by others still – the extremist "highland figures" – as a source of malevolence; an insult that must be destroyed. The issue of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be removed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the first series, Lyra's deeds, and her fate, are shown to be inextricably connected with the future of the realm
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in parallel. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's movements and her path are shown to be deeply linked with the future of the world. Her private mission to reconnect with her soul and rediscover her vision becomes the key conflict in a wider battle with an controlling system which, as these systems always have, is seeking to suppress autonomy of reason, originality and culture: all the inner, resistant ways in which humans can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The novel opens with the unveiling of a collection of strange cracks in the fabric of the world's sky: gateways that look to open into different dimensions. An example of a opening seems to be the point of the highly contested rose oil. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its helm, labels these portals as a challenge to the church's beliefs and sets out to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from rigid logic and revert to feeling, nevertheless, her certainty that these sites must be defended – that their meaning and their value is somehow essential – grows. "The substance, or the substance, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or whatever we label it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a poetic struggle between innocence and maturity is set.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
