Tings are unraveling in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a realm that seems, in this volume especially, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reassembling themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from states, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the treasuries of business empires, the control of mobs. "Something is at work, silently, very subtly", says trader a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were firm and solid are weakening and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Just what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that propels this final volume, which picks up where its predecessor concluded. This is, reportedly, the author's concluding foray into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling universe he first unveiled three decades past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose landscape corresponds to that of the real world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the humans appear and think and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, essences in animal form; where the skies are filled with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but below, vehicles are taken and beverages is consumed, and older professors carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the prequel, the prequel with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still clearly the sharp and determined heroine of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, more careful, more doubtful. This circumscription is heightened by her split from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in search of that innocent part of her which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he represents as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a adventurous trek across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and risk on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in motion, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of strict, bureaucratic malice – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's relative, who faults her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the role of president of the Magisterium's governing body, and is set on using his newfound authority to broaden the institution's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued baby Lyra to security along a flooded river as an child in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a sideline in spycraft: he is dispatched to Geneva to discover more about the antagonist's aims. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and costly botanical extract which manifests in some way to be the origin of a societal and financial crisis spreading out from that area. The extract is viewed by some as a commercial good, by others as a scientific or esoteric phenomenon, and by yet others – the extremist "highland figures" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be destroyed. The question of its source, what it stands for, and if it should be destroyed or protected is escalating in importance.
Similar to His Dark Materials, our protagonist's decisions, and her destiny, are revealed to be deeply connected with the future of the universe
In the previous volume, these plots ran mostly in side by side. In this final book, they come together. Like His Dark Materials, her movements and her path are revealed to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the realm. Her individual mission to reunite with her companion and rediscover her imagination becomes the central struggle in a larger war with an authoritarian regime which, as these systems always have, is striving to quell freedom of thinking, creativity and expression: all the internal, rebellious ways in which individuals can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The story begins with the discovery of a series of unusual fissures in the fabric of the world's atmosphere: windows that look to lead to different dimensions. An example of a window manifests to be the origin of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its leadership, classifies these openings as a challenge to the church's beliefs and endeavors to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to move from inflexible reason and revert to feeling, nevertheless, her certainty that these places must be defended – that what they stand for and what they provide is in some way essential – increases. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the vision, or the field of roses, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a poetic conflict between naivety and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
