Things are unraveling in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that seems, in this volume especially, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reassembling themselves along new and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from states, and gathering in the offices of religious leaders, the vaults of conglomerates, the grasp of crowds. "An element is at work, stealthily, gradually", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were stable and durable are faltering and failing."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Exactly what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that propels this final volume, which resumes where the previous book ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's last foray into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting universe he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a world whose landscape aligns with that of this world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and think and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, beings in creature form; where the skies are populated with sorceresses and gryphons, but below, vehicles are ridden and beverages is consumed, and mature professors carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a child in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the first volume, the prequel with which the author began the series, is now a adult: still recognisably the spiky and tenacious heroine of the earlier books, but older, melancholic, warier, less sure. This restraint is amplified by her separation from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to leave in pursuit of that childlike part of her which she appears to have shed (an quality which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with marvel and risk on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in action, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of strict, administrative evil – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the role of leader of the Magisterium's governing body, and is determined on using his fresh power to expand the institution's control. Malcolm Polstead, who carried baby the heroine to safety along a flooded Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in espionage: he is sent to a key location to learn more about the antagonist's aims. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and precious rose oil which manifests somehow to be the source of a societal and financial upheaval spreading out from that area. The oil is seen by some as a tradeable commodity, by others as a scientific or spiritual miracle, and by further factions – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its source, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the first series, Lyra's decisions, and her fate, are shown to be inextricably connected with the destiny of the realm
In the previous volume, these narratives ran broadly in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. Similar to the original series, the protagonist's choices and her destiny are shown to be inextricably linked with the fate of the realm. Her private mission to reconnect with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the central battleground in a larger conflict with an oppressive regime which, as such regimes often attempt, is seeking to stifle freedom of thinking, creativity and culture: all the personal, resistant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The book starts with the unveiling of a collection of unusual cracks in the fabric of the world's sky: portals that look to lead to different dimensions. One such opening manifests to be the source of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with Delamare at its leadership, designates these windows as a threat to the religion's beliefs and endeavors to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to move from inflexible reason and return to feeling, nevertheless, her conviction that these sites must be defended – that their meaning and what they provide is in some way crucial – grows. "Dust, or the extract, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a poetic tussle between purity and knowledge is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
