Tings are falling apart in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that seems, now more than ever, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from states, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the hands of rioters. "An element is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and solid are deteriorating and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that propels the concluding book, which picks up where its predecessor left off. This is, according to many, the author's concluding foray into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting realm he first unveiled in the distant past, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose geography maps on to that of the real world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the humans look and reason and act like us, but are joined by animal souls, souls in creature form; where the skies are filled with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, vehicles are taken and drinks is drunk, and older academics carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still recognisably the prickly and tenacious heroine of the previous installments, but more mature, more sorrowful, more careful, less certain. This circumscription is amplified by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
His choice to depart in search of that youthful part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an quality which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with amazement and peril on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the religious governing authority, and the author's deliciously chilling representation of strict, procedural wickedness – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. The antagonist – our protagonist's family member, who blames her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the office of leader of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his fresh power to extend the institution's rule. A key character, who rescued baby the heroine to security along a swollen river as an child in the first book, is now an academic with a additional duty in spycraft: he is sent to the city to learn more about the antagonist's intentions. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and costly botanical extract which appears somehow to be the source of a societal and financial crisis emanating out from Central Asia. The oil is regarded by some as a marketable commodity, by others as a research-based or spiritual phenomenon, and by others still – the extremist "highland figures" – as a source of darkness; an affront that must be eradicated. The question of its source, its significance, and if it should be removed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the original trilogy, the heroine's decisions, and her future, are demonstrated to be deeply entwined with the fate of the universe
In the previous volume, these storylines ran broadly in parallel. In this final book, they converge. Like the first trilogy, her movements and her destiny are unveiled to be inextricably linked with the future of the universe. Her individual quest to reconnect with her daemon and regain her creativity becomes the central struggle in a broader war with an authoritarian regime which, as these systems often attempt, is attempting to stifle freedom of thought, creativity and culture: all the internal, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The novel starts with the discovery of a set of strange fissures in the structure of the world's sky: portals that look to give on to alternate realities. An example of a window manifests to be the source of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The church, with the antagonist at its leadership, classifies these portals as a threat to the religion's beliefs and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to move from rigid reason and revert to instinct, however, her belief that these locations must be protected – that their meaning and what they provide is in some way vital – increases. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a Blakean conflict between innocence and experience is set.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
