Things are unraveling in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a world that seems, here more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from authorities, and pooling in the offices of religious leaders, the treasuries of business empires, the grasp of crowds. "An element is at work, very quietly, gradually", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were secure and strong are weakening and giving way."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Exactly what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that drives this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor concluded. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's final excursion into the elaborately built, deeply captivating world he first introduced 30 years ago, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a world whose geography aligns with that of this world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the people look and reason and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, souls in animal form; where the air are teeming with sorceresses and gryphons, but below, buses are caught and tea is drunk, and older academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the prequel, the introductory book with which the author began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the sharp and persistent protagonist of the earlier books, but older, melancholic, more careful, more doubtful. This restraint is intensified by her separation from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to depart in search of that childlike part of her which she appears to have shed (an quality which he represents as her "creativity"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which saw the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with marvel and risk on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister representation of austere, bureaucratic evil – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's relative, who blames her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the office of head of the church's ruling assembly, and is set on using his fresh influence to expand the institution's rule. Another protagonist, who carried young Lyra to safety along a flooded Thames as an child in the first book, is now an academic with a sideline in intelligence work: he is assigned to the city to discover more about his aims. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and precious botanical extract which seems somehow to be the cause of a social and financial upheaval emanating out from Central Asia. The extract is viewed by various factions as a tradeable product, by different parties as a empirical or mystical wonder, and by others still – the zealous "highland figures" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its source, what it stands for, and if it should be removed or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's deeds, and her future, are shown to be inseparably connected with the destiny of the universe
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. Like His Dark Materials, her actions and her fate are shown to be inextricably linked with the fate of the universe. Her individual journey to rejoin with her daemon and regain her creativity becomes the primary struggle in a broader battle with an oppressive system which, as such authorities typically do, is striving to suppress autonomy of thinking, creativity and culture: all the internal, resistant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The book starts with the finding of a set of curious openings in the makeup of the Earth's atmosphere: windows that appear to open into other worlds. A particular window manifests to be the source of the much debated botanical substance. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its leadership, classifies these openings as a problem to the religion's beliefs and aims to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to move from strict logic and return to instinct, nevertheless, her belief that these sites must be preserved – that their meaning and what they offer is in some way essential – strengthens. "The substance, or rose oil, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or whatever we label it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a poetic struggle between innocence and knowledge is established.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
