Things are falling apart in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the second of the author's grand trilogies set in a world that appears, here more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from authorities, and pooling in the offices of religious leaders, the treasuries of corporations, the control of mobs. "Something is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and solid are faltering and collapsing."
Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that animates this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor concluded. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final venture into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling realm he first unveiled three decades past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose geography aligns with that of the real world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the people look and reason and behave like us, but are paired by daemons, souls in creature form; where the air are teeming with witches and gryphons, but beneath those skies, buses are taken and beverages is consumed, and older academics carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still distinctly the sharp and tenacious heroine of the earlier books, but more mature, more sorrowful, warier, less certain. This limitation is heightened by her division from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
The daemon's resolve to depart in pursuit of that innocent part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which followed Lyra undertake a adventurous journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with marvel and danger on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in play, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the religious controlling power, and the author's masterfully eerie embodiment of rigid, bureaucratic malice – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. The antagonist – our protagonist's relative, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the role of president of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his newfound influence to broaden the church's rule. Another protagonist, who saved young the heroine to refuge along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in espionage: he is dispatched to Geneva to find out more about his aims. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and precious rose oil which appears in some way to be the origin of a societal and financial crisis rippling out from that area. The oil is seen by various factions as a marketable commodity, by different parties as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a wellspring of evil; an affront that must be eradicated. The question of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be destroyed or protected is escalating in importance.
Like the original trilogy, the heroine's actions, and her fate, are demonstrated to be inseparably entwined with the fate of the world
In its predecessor, these storylines ran largely in side by side. In the conclusion, they merge. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's actions and her path are unveiled to be inseparably woven with the future of the realm. Her private quest to reunite with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a broader battle with an authoritarian system which, as these systems typically do, is seeking to suppress autonomy of thought, originality and art: all the inner, rebellious ways in which individuals can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The novel begins with the discovery of a set of strange fissures in the makeup of the Earth's sky: portals that seem to open into alternate realities. One such window appears to be the point of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The church, with Delamare at its head, classifies these portals as a challenge to the religion's doctrine and sets out to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to move from strict reason and back to feeling, yet, her certainty that these locations must be defended – that what they stand for and what they offer is in some way vital – grows. "Dust, or the substance, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a poetic tussle between purity and experience is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
