Things are collapsing in the last installment of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a world that seems, here more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reassembling themselves along new and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from governments, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the vaults of corporations, the control of rioters. "An element is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and durable are deteriorating and failing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that animates this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor left off. This is, by all accounts, the author's concluding venture into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling world he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose landscape maps on to that of this world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the people look and reason and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, souls in creature form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and gryphons, but underneath, vehicles are taken and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a child in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which the author began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the prickly and persistent heroine of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, more cautious, less sure. This limitation is heightened by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to depart in pursuit of that innocent part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an trait which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and danger on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in play, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's masterfully eerie representation of rigid, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. The antagonist – the heroine's family member, who faults her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of leader of the Magisterium's governing body, and is intent on using his newfound power to extend the church's control. A key character, who saved infant the heroine to security along a overflowing river as an young boy in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in intelligence work: he is assigned to a key location to find out more about Delamare's aims. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and valuable essential oil which appears somehow to be the origin of a social and financial upheaval emanating out from that area. The extract is viewed by some as a tradeable good, by others as a scientific or mystical miracle, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be destroyed. The question of where it comes from, what it stands for, and whether it should be removed or preserved is becoming urgent.
As in the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her future, are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the future of the world
In its predecessor, these narratives ran mostly in tandem. In this final book, they come together. As in His Dark Materials, her actions and her fate are revealed to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the world. Her personal journey to reconnect with her soul and regain her vision becomes the central struggle in a larger conflict with an authoritarian regime which, as these systems always have, is attempting to stifle freedom of thinking, creativity and expression: all the personal, rebellious ways in which humans can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The book opens with the finding of a series of unusual openings in the fabric of the world's atmosphere: portals that seem to give on to different dimensions. A particular opening appears to be the point of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its head, classifies these openings as a challenge to the religion's orthodoxy and sets out to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to move from inflexible reason and return to intuition, nevertheless, her certainty that these sites must be protected – that what they stand for and their value is somehow essential – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean struggle between purity and maturity is established.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
