Tings are unraveling in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that manifests, now more than ever, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from governments, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the vaults of business empires, the grasp of mobs. "An element is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and strong are weakening and giving way."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that drives this final volume, which continues where the previous book left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last excursion into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling universe he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose terrain corresponds to that of the real world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the individuals look and reason and act like us, but are paired by daemons, souls in creature form; where the air are filled with witches and gryphons, but below, vehicles are taken and beverages is sipped, and middle-aged academics carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a child in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still recognisably the spiky and determined heroine of the previous installments, but older, melancholic, warier, less sure. This circumscription is amplified by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to go off in quest of that youthful part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an quality which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and danger on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in play, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of austere, administrative evil – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. The antagonist – Lyra's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of head of the church's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound influence to broaden the institution's dominium. A key character, who saved infant Lyra to refuge along a swollen Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an academic with a sideline in espionage: he is sent to the city to find out more about his plans. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and costly essential oil which seems in some way to be the source of a social and financial disturbance emanating out from the region. The substance is seen by certain groups as a tradeable commodity, by alternate groups as a scientific or spiritual phenomenon, and by others still – the zealous "highland figures" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an affront that must be eradicated. The issue of where it comes from, what it stands for, and if it should be removed or preserved is becoming urgent.
Like the first series, the heroine's deeds, and her destiny, are revealed to be deeply linked with the future of the realm
In the previous volume, these storylines ran mostly in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's movements and her path are shown to be deeply woven with the future of the universe. Her private journey to reconnect with her soul and regain her imagination becomes the key struggle in a larger battle with an oppressive government which, as these systems always have, is striving to quell independence of thought, originality and art: all the inner, resistant ways in which people can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The book starts with the unveiling of a series of strange openings in the makeup of the world's air: gateways that seem to open into other worlds. One such portal seems to be the source of the highly contested rose oil. The authority, with its leader at its helm, labels these windows as a problem to the religion's beliefs and aims to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to move from strict reason and revert to feeling, yet, her belief that these sites must be preserved – that their significance and what they offer is in some way essential – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or no matter what we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a philosophical tussle between innocence and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
