Tings are collapsing in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a world that seems, here more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or restructuring themselves along new and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is draining from governments, and pooling in the chambers of theocrats, the coffers of conglomerates, the grasp of rioters. "Some force is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his post in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and solid are weakening and failing."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Precisely what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that animates this final volume, which continues where its predecessor ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding venture into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting realm he first introduced in the distant past, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a world whose geography corresponds to that of the real world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the individuals look and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, essences in creature form; where the air are filled with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, vehicles are caught and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still clearly the sharp and tenacious heroine of the earlier books, but more mature, more sorrowful, warier, less sure. This restraint is heightened by her division from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to leave in pursuit of that youthful part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an trait which he represents as her "imagination"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with marvel and peril on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in action, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the church's governing authority, and the author's deliciously chilling incarnation of rigid, bureaucratic malice – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's uncle, who faults her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the office of head of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his recently acquired authority to broaden the religion's rule. A key character, who saved young Lyra to refuge along a flooded river as an child in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in spycraft: he is dispatched to a key location to find out more about his plans. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and costly botanical extract which manifests somehow to be the source of a social and financial disturbance rippling out from that area. The oil is viewed by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by alternate groups as a research-based or mystical miracle, and by others still – the extremist "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its source, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in His Dark Materials, the heroine's decisions, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inseparably linked with the fate of the world
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they come together. Like the original series, the protagonist's actions and her path are shown to be inextricably linked with the fate of the realm. Her individual journey to reconnect with her soul and recover her vision becomes the key struggle in a larger conflict with an controlling system which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to suppress independence of thought, creativity and art: all the inner, resistant ways in which people can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The book opens with the finding of a collection of unusual openings in the fabric of the planet's air: gateways that seem to lead to other worlds. A particular portal seems to be the point of the highly contested rose oil. The authority, with the antagonist at its head, classifies these openings as a challenge to the religion's beliefs and aims to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to shift from rigid reason and back to instinct, yet, her belief that these places must be defended – that their significance and what they offer is mysteriously vital – increases. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean tussle between innocence and maturity is set.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
