Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that manifests, here more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reassembling themselves along novel and troubling lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from states, and accumulating in the offices of religious leaders, the vaults of corporations, the hands of crowds. "Some force is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and durable are deteriorating and failing."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Just what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that propels this final volume, which picks up where its predecessor ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's concluding excursion into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling universe he first unveiled three decades past, with the launch of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose landscape maps on to that of our world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans appear and think and behave like us, but are joined by animal souls, souls in animal form; where the skies are populated with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, transports are caught and drinks is drunk, and mature scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still recognisably the spiky and determined protagonist of the previous installments, but aged, melancholic, more careful, less certain. This restraint is heightened by her separation from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to leave in search of that innocent part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an trait which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with amazement and risk on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in action, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the church's ruling body, and the author's deliciously chilling embodiment of austere, administrative malice – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's uncle, who faults her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of president of the church's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his recently acquired authority to broaden the religion's control. A key character, who carried young Lyra to safety along a flooded river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in espionage: he is sent to the city to find out more about Delamare's aims. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and valuable essential oil which appears in some way to be the origin of a social and financial upheaval rippling out from Central Asia. The oil is viewed by various factions as a commercial commodity, by alternate groups as a empirical or mystical wonder, and by further factions – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a source of darkness; an insult that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its origins, what it stands for, and whether it should be destroyed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to His Dark Materials, the heroine's deeds, and her destiny, are revealed to be inextricably linked with the future of the world
In its predecessor, these narratives ran mostly in side by side. In the conclusion, they merge. As in the first trilogy, Lyra's movements and her destiny are shown to be deeply entwined with the fate of the realm. Her individual quest to reconnect with her companion and recover her imagination becomes the key battleground in a larger conflict with an controlling system which, as these systems typically do, is seeking to quell freedom of thought, creativity and expression: all the inner, rebellious ways in which individuals can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The story opens with the discovery of a set of unusual openings in the makeup of the world's air: windows that appear to give on to alternate realities. An example of a portal seems to be the point of the highly contested botanical substance. The church, with its leader at its head, labels these openings as a problem to the church's orthodoxy and aims to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to move from inflexible rationalism and revert to feeling, however, her belief that these sites must be preserved – that their meaning and their value is mysteriously crucial – increases. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the imagination, or the field of roses, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean struggle between purity and maturity is set.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
