Things are falling apart in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of the author's grand trilogies set in a world that seems, now more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is draining from governments, and gathering in the halls of religious leaders, the treasuries of business empires, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, gradually", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and strong are faltering and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Just what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's last excursion into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling universe he first revealed 30 years ago, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose landscape maps on to that of the real world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and reason and act like us, but are paired by external spirits, souls in animal form; where the skies are populated with sorceresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, vehicles are ridden and tea is consumed, and middle-aged professors carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the first volume, the origin story with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still clearly the spiky and tenacious protagonist of the previous installments, but aged, melancholic, more cautious, less certain. This circumscription is heightened by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
The daemon's resolve to depart in pursuit of that childlike part of her which she appears to have shed (an quality which he represents as her "imagination"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which followed Lyra undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and peril on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's ruling body, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister incarnation of austere, bureaucratic wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – the heroine's family member, who faults her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the position of head of the authority's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his recently acquired power to broaden the institution's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued infant Lyra to safety along a flooded Thames as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a additional duty in spycraft: he is sent to a key location to find out more about his aims. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and costly rose oil which seems in some way to be the cause of a societal and economic upheaval spreading out from that area. The substance is viewed by certain groups as a tradeable good, by others as a research-based or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a source of evil; an challenge that must be obliterated. The question of its source, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
As in His Dark Materials, Lyra's deeds, and her fate, are demonstrated to be deeply linked with the future of the realm
In the previous volume, these plots ran broadly in tandem. In the conclusion, they come together. Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's choices and her path are revealed to be deeply entwined with the fate of the universe. Her individual mission to rejoin with her soul and regain her vision becomes the key conflict in a wider war with an authoritarian government which, as these systems typically do, is seeking to quell freedom of reason, innovation and culture: all the inner, resistant ways in which humans can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the finding of a collection of curious cracks in the makeup of the Earth's sky: gateways that appear to open into other worlds. A particular opening appears to be the origin of the much debated botanical substance. The church, with its leader at its helm, labels these windows as a threat to the church's orthodoxy and aims to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to move from strict logic and return to feeling, yet, her belief that these places must be defended – that their meaning and their value is mysteriously essential – increases. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a Blakean conflict between innocence and maturity is established.
Story Tempo and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
