Tings are unraveling in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a world that manifests, now more than ever, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from authorities, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the grasp of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, gradually", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and durable are faltering and failing."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Precisely what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that drives the concluding book, which picks up where the previous book concluded. This is, by all accounts, the author's last foray into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling universe he first unveiled three decades past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose geography corresponds to that of this world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, essences in beast form; where the heavens are filled with sorceresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, buses are taken and tea is consumed, and middle-aged professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a child in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the sharp and tenacious main character of the prior volumes, but more mature, sadder, more careful, more doubtful. This restraint is amplified by her separation from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to leave in quest of that childlike part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an quality which he represents as her "imagination"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with amazement and danger on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in play, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the religious controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of austere, procedural evil – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's family member, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the office of leader of the church's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his newfound influence to expand the institution's control. Malcolm Polstead, who saved baby the heroine to safety along a overflowing river as an young boy in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in spycraft: he is assigned to Geneva to discover more about his intentions. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and valuable rose oil which manifests in some way to be the cause of a societal and financial disturbance emanating out from Central Asia. The extract is seen by various factions as a marketable product, by different parties as a research-based or esoteric miracle, and by yet others – the extremist "mountain dwellers" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be destroyed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
As in His Dark Materials, the heroine's actions, and her future, are demonstrated to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran mostly in tandem. In this final book, they converge. Like the first trilogy, the protagonist's choices and her destiny are unveiled to be inseparably woven with the destiny of the realm. Her private journey to reconnect with her daemon and regain her creativity becomes the primary struggle in a larger war with an authoritarian government which, as such authorities often attempt, is attempting to stifle autonomy of thinking, creativity and expression: all the internal, defiant ways in which people can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The novel begins with the discovery of a set of strange cracks in the makeup of the planet's sky: gateways that appear to give on to alternate realities. A particular portal appears to be the point of the much debated mystical extract. The authority, with Delamare at its head, classifies these openings as a problem to the institution's doctrine and sets out to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from inflexible rationalism and return to instinct, yet, her certainty that these sites must be preserved – that what they stand for and what they provide is in some way essential – strengthens. "The substance, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a philosophical struggle between naivety and knowledge is established.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
