Things are unraveling in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that manifests, in this volume especially, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reassembling themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from states, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the hands of rioters. "Something is at work, very quietly, gradually", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were stable and durable are deteriorating and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Just what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that propels the concluding book, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last excursion into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting world he first introduced three decades past, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose terrain aligns with that of the real world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans appear and reason and behave like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, beings in creature form; where the air are populated with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but below, vehicles are ridden and drinks is drunk, and older academics carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which the author began the series, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the sharp and tenacious main character of the previous installments, but aged, sadder, warier, less certain. This circumscription is intensified by her split from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to leave in pursuit of that childlike part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with marvel and risk on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in play, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the faith's ruling body, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister representation of strict, bureaucratic evil – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – the heroine's uncle, who faults her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of head of the authority's governing body, and is intent on using his fresh power to extend the church's dominium. Another protagonist, who saved young Lyra to safety along a swollen Thames as an child in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is assigned to the city to learn more about Delamare's plans. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and precious botanical extract which seems mysteriously to be the cause of a societal and economic disturbance emanating out from that area. The oil is viewed by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by others as a scientific or spiritual wonder, and by yet others – the extremist "highland figures" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an insult that must be destroyed. The issue of its source, what it stands for, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the original trilogy, our protagonist's deeds, and her destiny, are revealed to be deeply entwined with the fate of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran largely in tandem. In the conclusion, they converge. Like His Dark Materials, Lyra's choices and her fate are unveiled to be deeply woven with the fate of the universe. Her personal mission to reunite with her companion and regain her imagination becomes the key struggle in a larger battle with an controlling government which, as these systems typically do, is attempting to quell independence of thought, originality and expression: all the internal, resistant ways in which humans can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The novel begins with the finding of a collection of curious fissures in the fabric of the planet's atmosphere: portals that appear to open into other worlds. An example of a opening appears to be the origin of the highly contested botanical substance. The authority, with its leader at its head, classifies these portals as a challenge to the institution's orthodoxy and endeavors to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to shift from strict reason and return to instinct, however, her conviction that these places must be protected – that their significance and what they provide is mysteriously vital – increases. "The substance, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or whatever we call it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a Blakean tussle between naivety and experience is established.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
