Tings are falling apart in the last installment of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that appears, now more than ever, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from states, and accumulating in the halls of religious leaders, the vaults of conglomerates, the grasp of crowds. "Something is at work, silently, very subtly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and durable are faltering and failing."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that animates the concluding book, which continues where the previous book left off. This is, according to many, the author's final foray into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating universe he first introduced 30 years ago, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a world whose terrain maps on to that of our world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the people look and reason and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, beings in beast form; where the skies are teeming with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, transports are taken and beverages is consumed, and mature professors carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a child in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which the author began this trilogy, is now a adult: still recognisably the sharp and tenacious protagonist of the earlier books, but aged, sadder, warier, more doubtful. This restraint is heightened by her separation from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in search of that innocent part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an trait which he represents as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which saw Lyra undertake a wandering voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with marvel and peril on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in play, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the religious ruling body, and the author's deliciously chilling representation of strict, procedural wickedness – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of president of the Magisterium's governing body, and is intent on using his newfound power to extend the institution's control. Malcolm Polstead, who saved young the heroine to safety along a swollen river as an young boy in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a sideline in spycraft: he is dispatched to the city to discover more about Delamare's plans. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and costly essential oil which appears mysteriously to be the origin of a societal and financial upheaval rippling out from that area. The oil is viewed by certain groups as a tradeable good, by alternate groups as a research-based or esoteric phenomenon, and by others still – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a source of darkness; an insult that must be obliterated. The issue of its source, its meaning, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Similar to the original trilogy, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are revealed to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the world
In the previous volume, these storylines ran largely in tandem. In this final book, they come together. Like the first trilogy, her actions and her fate are revealed to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the world. Her individual journey to rejoin with her companion and recover her vision becomes the primary conflict in a broader conflict with an authoritarian government which, as such authorities always have, is striving to quell freedom of thought, innovation and art: all the personal, defiant ways in which people can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the finding of a set of strange openings in the makeup of the Earth's atmosphere: portals that seem to give on to alternate realities. An example of a window manifests to be the point of the highly contested rose oil. The Magisterium, with its leader at its helm, classifies these openings as a challenge to the institution's orthodoxy and aims to destroy them. As Lyra begins to shift from strict logic and return to intuition, yet, her conviction that these sites must be defended – that their meaning and their value is in some way crucial – increases. "Dust, or the extract, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a philosophical struggle between purity and knowledge is set.
Story Tempo and Character Development
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
