Tings are unraveling in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the second of the author's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, now more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is draining from authorities, and gathering in the chambers of theocrats, the vaults of business empires, the control of crowds. "Some force is at work, silently, gradually", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were stable and strong are deteriorating and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels this final volume, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, reportedly, the author's last excursion into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting world he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose geography aligns with that of the real world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and act like us, but are paired by daemons, souls in animal form; where the air are teeming with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but below, transports are caught and tea is sipped, and mature professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still clearly the prickly and tenacious main character of the earlier books, but more mature, melancholic, more careful, more doubtful. This restraint is amplified by her division from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that innocent part of her which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he represents as her "imagination"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a picaresque voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with wonder and risk on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the faith's ruling body, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister embodiment of austere, procedural wickedness – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of head of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his fresh power to extend the church's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who carried infant Lyra to refuge along a flooded river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in spycraft: he is sent to the city to find out more about the antagonist's plans. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and precious rose oil which manifests in some way to be the source of a social and economic crisis rippling out from Central Asia. The substance is viewed by certain groups as a tradeable commodity, by different parties as a research-based or spiritual phenomenon, and by others still – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of malevolence; an insult that must be destroyed. The question of where it comes from, what it stands for, and if it should be destroyed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Like the original trilogy, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are revealed to be inseparably entwined with the future of the universe
In the previous volume, these narratives ran largely in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. Like the original series, the protagonist's choices and her fate are unveiled to be deeply entwined with the fate of the universe. Her individual mission to reunite with her daemon and regain her imagination becomes the primary battleground in a wider war with an controlling government which, as such regimes often attempt, is attempting to stifle freedom of reason, creativity and art: all the personal, defiant ways in which humans can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The book begins with the discovery of a set of unusual fissures in the makeup of the world's sky: portals that seem to open into alternate realities. An example of a window seems to be the origin of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The Magisterium, with its leader at its head, labels these portals as a problem to the religion's orthodoxy and aims to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to shift from rigid logic and return to feeling, however, her certainty that these locations must be defended – that their meaning and their value is in some way essential – strengthens. "The substance, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a philosophical tussle between innocence and experience is set.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
