Things are unraveling in the last installment of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that appears, here more than ever, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along new and troubling lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from governments, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the grasp of rioters. "Something is at work, silently, gradually", says trader a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and solid are deteriorating and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Just what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that drives the concluding book, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, by all accounts, the author's final foray into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting world he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a world whose landscape corresponds to that of this world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by daemons, beings in beast form; where the heavens are populated with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, buses are taken and drinks is sipped, and older professors carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the first volume, the origin story with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still recognisably the sharp and tenacious main character of the earlier books, but older, melancholic, more cautious, less certain. This circumscription is amplified by her split from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to depart in search of that youthful part of her which she appears to have shed (an trait which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the mountain region, facing with wonder and danger on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's masterfully eerie embodiment of strict, bureaucratic malice – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – Lyra's relative, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of president of the church's governing body, and is intent on using his newfound authority to extend the religion's rule. Another protagonist, who carried infant Lyra to security along a flooded river as an young boy in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is sent to the city to learn more about Delamare's plans. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and costly essential oil which manifests in some way to be the origin of a societal and economic crisis rippling out from the region. The oil is seen by some as a tradeable good, by different parties as a scientific or spiritual wonder, and by further factions – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be obliterated. The issue of where it comes from, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or protected is escalating in importance.
Like His Dark Materials, our protagonist's decisions, and her fate, are revealed to be inextricably connected with the destiny of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran mostly in side by side. In this final book, they merge. Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's choices and her fate are unveiled to be inseparably entwined with the fate of the realm. Her individual journey to rejoin with her daemon and regain her vision becomes the key battleground in a larger battle with an oppressive regime which, as these systems always have, is seeking to quell autonomy of reason, creativity and culture: all the personal, resistant ways in which people can be independent.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The book begins with the discovery of a set of strange cracks in the fabric of the planet's sky: gateways that appear to lead to different dimensions. An example of a window appears to be the origin of the highly contested botanical substance. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its leadership, labels these windows as a problem to the religion's doctrine and aims to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to move from inflexible reason and return to intuition, yet, her certainty that these locations must be preserved – that their meaning and what they offer is mysteriously crucial – grows. "The substance, or rose oil, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a Blakean tussle between purity and knowledge is established.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
