Tings are collapsing in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that manifests, now more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from authorities, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of conglomerates, the hands of rioters. "Some force is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were firm and durable are weakening and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Just what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that propels the concluding book, which resumes where its predecessor concluded. This is, according to many, the author's final foray into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating realm he first revealed three decades past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose terrain aligns with that of the real world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and reason and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, souls in beast form; where the air are teeming with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, buses are caught and beverages is drunk, and middle-aged academics carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still distinctly the spiky and persistent main character of the prior volumes, but older, more sorrowful, warier, more doubtful. This limitation is heightened by her separation from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to leave in quest of that innocent part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an trait which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with wonder and risk on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in action, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of strict, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's relative, who blames her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the office of head of the church's governing body, and is determined on using his recently acquired power to extend the institution's dominium. A key character, who rescued baby Lyra to security along a flooded Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an academic with a sideline in espionage: he is assigned to a key location to discover more about Delamare's aims. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and precious essential oil which appears mysteriously to be the source of a social and financial upheaval rippling out from Central Asia. The oil is seen by various factions as a marketable good, by others as a scientific or spiritual wonder, and by yet others – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an insult that must be destroyed. The question of its origins, its meaning, and whether it should be eliminated or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the first series, the heroine's deeds, and her future, are revealed to be deeply connected with the destiny of the world
In the previous volume, these narratives ran broadly in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. As in the first trilogy, the protagonist's choices and her destiny are revealed to be deeply entwined with the future of the realm. Her individual journey to reunite with her daemon and recover her vision becomes the central conflict in a wider conflict with an oppressive regime which, as these systems always have, is seeking to suppress freedom of reason, innovation and culture: all the personal, defiant ways in which humans can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The story begins with the finding of a series of unusual fissures in the makeup of the world's atmosphere: portals that seem to lead to different dimensions. A particular portal manifests to be the point of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The church, with its leader at its head, designates these windows as a threat to the institution's doctrine and sets out to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from strict logic and return to intuition, however, her belief that these sites must be preserved – that their meaning and what they offer is somehow crucial – grows. "The substance, or the extract, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or no matter what we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a Blakean struggle between innocence and maturity is set.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
