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, now more than ever, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is draining from states, and pooling in the chambers of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the grasp of rioters. "An element is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and strong are faltering and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Exactly what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that propels the concluding book, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, according to many, the author's concluding venture into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting realm he first introduced in the distant past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose geography corresponds to that of this world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and reason and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, essences in beast form; where the skies are filled with witches and mythical beasts, but underneath, transports are ridden and beverages is sipped, and middle-aged scholars carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a child in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the prequel, the origin story with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still clearly the spiky and tenacious protagonist of the previous installments, but aged, more sorrowful, more careful, less certain. This circumscription is heightened by her separation from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
His choice to depart in pursuit of that youthful part of her which she may have forgotten (an trait which he represents as her "vision"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and risk on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in play, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the church's ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie incarnation of strict, administrative wickedness – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. The antagonist – Lyra's family member, who blames her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the position of president of the authority's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his fresh influence to expand the institution's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who carried infant the heroine to security along a overflowing Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is sent to Geneva to find out more about Delamare's intentions. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and valuable essential oil which appears in some way to be the cause of a societal and financial crisis emanating out from the region. The substance is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable commodity, by alternate groups as a scientific or mystical phenomenon, and by others still – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a origin of darkness; an challenge that must be eradicated. The issue of where it comes from, its significance, and if it should be removed or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
Like His Dark Materials, our protagonist's decisions, and her destiny, are shown to be inseparably entwined with the destiny of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran broadly in tandem. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the first trilogy, her choices and her destiny are shown to be deeply linked with the fate of the realm. Her personal quest to reunite with her companion and regain her vision becomes the primary conflict in a wider war with an controlling system which, as such regimes often attempt, is striving to stifle freedom of thought, creativity and expression: all the inner, defiant ways in which people can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The story begins with the finding of a collection of unusual cracks in the structure of the Earth's air: portals that appear to open into alternate realities. One such opening seems to be the source of the much debated botanical substance. The authority, with the antagonist at its head, designates these windows as a threat to the church's doctrine and aims to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to move from inflexible logic and return to feeling, yet, her certainty that these locations must be preserved – that their significance and what they provide is mysteriously essential – strengthens. "The substance, or the substance, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or whatever we label it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a philosophical tussle between naivety and experience is established.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
