Things are unraveling in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that appears, here more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from states, and accumulating in the halls of theocrats, the vaults of business empires, the control of rioters. "Something is at work, silently, gradually", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and solid are deteriorating and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Just what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that propels this final volume, which continues where the previous book concluded. This is, according to many, Pullman's concluding foray into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting realm he first revealed in the distant past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a world whose terrain corresponds to that of our world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and think and act like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, souls in beast form; where the heavens are teeming with enchantresses and gryphons, but underneath, transports are ridden and tea is drunk, and older scholars carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a young woman: still recognisably the spiky and determined heroine of the prior volumes, but more mature, more sorrowful, more careful, less sure. This circumscription is amplified by her separation from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to go off in pursuit of that youthful part of her which she seems to have lost (an trait which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a picaresque trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with amazement and risk on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the faith's ruling body, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of austere, procedural evil – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. The antagonist – Lyra's family member, who blames her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of head of the authority's High Council, and is intent on using his recently acquired power to broaden the religion's control. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued infant Lyra to security along a overflowing river as an young boy in the prequel, is now an academic with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is dispatched to a key location to find out more about the antagonist's plans. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and precious essential oil which manifests mysteriously to be the source of a social and economic disturbance spreading out from that area. The extract is viewed by various factions as a commercial good, by others as a scientific or spiritual miracle, and by further factions – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a origin of evil; an affront that must be eradicated. The question of its source, its significance, and whether it should be removed or protected is escalating in importance.
Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's actions, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be deeply connected with the future of the universe
In its predecessor, these narratives ran largely in tandem. In this final book, they merge. Similar to the original series, Lyra's actions and her destiny are unveiled to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the realm. Her personal journey to rejoin with her daemon and regain her vision becomes the primary struggle in a larger battle with an oppressive regime which, as these systems often attempt, is striving to stifle autonomy of thought, originality and expression: all the internal, rebellious ways in which people can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The novel begins with the discovery of a series of strange openings in the makeup of the world's atmosphere: portals that look to lead to other worlds. A particular opening seems to be the source of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its leadership, classifies these openings as a threat to the religion's beliefs and sets out to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to shift from rigid reason and revert to intuition, nevertheless, her conviction that these places must be preserved – that what they stand for and their value is somehow essential – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean tussle between innocence and maturity is set.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
