Tings are unraveling in the final volume 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 failing, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from authorities, and pooling in the offices of theocrats, the vaults of business empires, the hands of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says trader a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and durable are faltering and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Just what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that propels the concluding book, which picks up where the previous book ended. This is, reportedly, the author's final foray into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling universe he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose landscape maps on to that of our world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the people look and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, souls in creature form; where the heavens are filled with witches and legendary creatures, but below, transports are taken and beverages is consumed, and older scholars carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a child in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the first volume, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the prickly and determined main character of the previous installments, but aged, more sorrowful, warier, less sure. This restraint is heightened by her split from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
The daemon's resolve to depart in pursuit of that childlike part of her which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a picaresque voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with marvel and risk on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of rigid, administrative evil – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's uncle, who faults her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the position of president of the church's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his recently acquired influence to expand the institution's control. Another protagonist, who carried young the heroine to refuge along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in espionage: he is sent to a key location to discover more about the antagonist's plans. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and costly essential oil which seems somehow to be the origin of a social and economic upheaval emanating out from that area. The extract is seen by certain groups as a marketable commodity, by different parties as a empirical or esoteric wonder, and by further factions – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a origin of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be eliminated or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the first series, Lyra's actions, and her fate, are shown to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the world
In the previous volume, these narratives ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they merge. Similar to His Dark Materials, her choices and her path are shown to be deeply linked with the fate of the realm. Her individual quest to rejoin with her soul and recover her imagination becomes the central conflict in a larger war with an authoritarian government which, as these systems always have, is striving to suppress autonomy of reason, originality and art: all the personal, defiant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The story opens with the finding of a collection of curious cracks in the fabric of the world's air: windows that look to give on to other worlds. An example of a opening manifests to be the origin of the much debated botanical substance. The church, with the antagonist at its leadership, designates these portals as a challenge to the religion's orthodoxy and aims to destroy them. As Lyra begins to turn away from strict rationalism and revert to instinct, yet, her certainty that these sites must be defended – that their significance and what they provide is somehow vital – increases. "Dust, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a Blakean conflict between purity and knowledge is established.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
