Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of the author's grand trilogies set in a realm that seems, here more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Organizations are failing, or restructuring themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from states, and accumulating in the chambers of religious leaders, the vaults of conglomerates, the grasp of mobs. "Something is at work, stealthily, gradually", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were stable and strong are weakening and giving way."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, reportedly, the author's concluding excursion into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling realm he first unveiled in the distant past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose terrain aligns with that of our world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the people appear and reason and behave like us, but are paired by animal souls, beings in beast form; where the skies are filled with witches and legendary creatures, but underneath, buses are ridden and tea is consumed, and middle-aged academics carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a child in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the sharp and tenacious heroine of the prior volumes, but aged, melancholic, more careful, less sure. This limitation is intensified by her split from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
The daemon's resolve to go off in pursuit of that youthful part of her which she seems to have lost (an quality which he represents as her "vision"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with marvel and danger on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in play, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister representation of rigid, procedural wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's relative, who faults her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the office of president of the Magisterium's governing body, and is set on using his newfound authority to broaden the institution's dominium. Another protagonist, who saved young Lyra to refuge along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an university scholar with a sideline in spycraft: he is assigned to Geneva to find out more about his intentions. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and precious botanical extract which appears in some way to be the origin of a social and financial crisis emanating out from that area. The oil is regarded by various factions as a marketable commodity, by others as a research-based or spiritual miracle, and by others still – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an challenge that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its origins, its significance, and if it should be removed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Similar to His Dark Materials, the heroine's deeds, and her destiny, are shown to be deeply entwined with the future of the universe
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. As in His Dark Materials, her movements and her destiny are revealed to be deeply entwined with the fate of the realm. Her private journey to reunite with her soul and regain her imagination becomes the central battleground in a wider war with an controlling system which, as these systems often attempt, is attempting to stifle independence of thinking, originality and expression: all the personal, rebellious ways in which humans can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the unveiling of a collection of unusual openings in the makeup of the world's sky: gateways that appear to lead to different dimensions. An example of a opening seems to be the point of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with Delamare at its leadership, designates these windows as a challenge to the institution's beliefs and sets out to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from inflexible rationalism and back to feeling, yet, her conviction that these places must be protected – that what they stand for and what they offer is somehow crucial – increases. "Dust, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or whatever we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a philosophical conflict between purity and experience is established.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
