Tings are unraveling in the last installment of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that appears, now more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or restructuring themselves along new and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is draining from governments, and pooling in the chambers of religious leaders, the vaults of conglomerates, the hands of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his place in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and durable are deteriorating and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that animates the concluding book, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, by all accounts, the author's last venture into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating realm he first unveiled three decades past, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose landscape corresponds to that of our world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and reason and behave like us, but are joined by animal souls, souls in beast form; where the skies are teeming with enchantresses and gryphons, but underneath, transports are caught and beverages is sipped, and middle-aged professors carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the prequel, the introductory book with which the author began the series, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the sharp and determined protagonist of the prior volumes, but aged, melancholic, warier, less sure. This restraint is intensified by her division from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to leave in pursuit of that innocent part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with amazement and danger on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the faith's governing authority, and the author's deliciously chilling embodiment of rigid, bureaucratic evil – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – our protagonist's family member, who faults her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of head of the church's governing body, and is intent on using his recently acquired influence to broaden the institution's control. Another protagonist, who carried infant Lyra to security along a swollen river as an child in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in spycraft: he is sent to the city to learn more about his plans. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and valuable rose oil which appears somehow to be the origin of a societal and financial disturbance emanating out from the region. The substance is regarded by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by different parties as a scientific or spiritual wonder, and by further factions – the zealous "highland figures" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an affront that must be obliterated. The issue of where it comes from, its meaning, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
As in the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her future, are shown to be inextricably linked with the future of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran broadly in tandem. In the conclusion, they come together. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's choices and her path are unveiled to be inseparably linked with the fate of the world. Her individual quest to reconnect with her soul and regain her creativity becomes the key conflict in a wider battle with an controlling government which, as these systems often attempt, is seeking to quell independence of thought, originality and art: all the inner, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The novel starts with the finding of a collection of strange openings in the fabric of the planet's sky: portals that seem to give on to other worlds. One such opening seems to be the origin of the much debated mystical extract. The Magisterium, with its leader at its helm, classifies these openings as a challenge to the institution's doctrine and sets out to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from strict reason and return to instinct, nevertheless, her conviction that these places must be preserved – that their meaning and what they offer is in some way vital – increases. "Dust, or the substance, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a philosophical tussle between purity and experience is established.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
