Tings are collapsing in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that appears, now more than ever, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An hidden force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from authorities, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the control of rioters. "An element is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his post in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and strong are weakening and failing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Just what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that drives this final volume, which picks up where the previous book left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding foray into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating realm he first introduced three decades past, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose terrain corresponds to that of this world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals look and think and act like us, but are joined by external spirits, souls in creature form; where the air are teeming with witches and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, transports are caught and beverages is sipped, and middle-aged professors carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still recognisably the spiky and persistent main character of the previous installments, but older, more sorrowful, more careful, more doubtful. This restraint is heightened by her split from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to leave in search of that innocent part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an trait which he represents as her "imagination"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which followed Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with marvel and peril on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in action, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister incarnation of rigid, bureaucratic evil – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of head of the authority's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his recently acquired influence to extend the religion's control. Malcolm Polstead, who carried baby the heroine to security along a overflowing Thames as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an university scholar with a sideline in spycraft: he is assigned to the city to discover more about the antagonist's intentions. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and valuable rose oil which seems in some way to be the origin of a social and financial upheaval emanating out from Central Asia. The extract is regarded by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by others as a research-based or esoteric miracle, and by yet others – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of darkness; an insult that must be obliterated. The issue of where it comes from, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
Similar to the original trilogy, our protagonist's actions, and her fate, are shown to be deeply entwined with the fate of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran largely in parallel. In this final book, they converge. As in His Dark Materials, her actions and her path are shown to be inextricably woven with the destiny of the realm. Her individual mission to reunite with her soul and rediscover her vision becomes the key conflict in a broader war with an authoritarian government which, as such regimes typically do, is attempting to stifle freedom of thought, creativity and culture: all the internal, defiant ways in which humans can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The novel opens with the discovery of a collection of strange fissures in the makeup of the world's air: gateways that seem to give on to different dimensions. A particular portal manifests to be the point of the much debated rose oil. The church, with Delamare at its helm, labels these windows as a problem to the church's beliefs and endeavors to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to move from strict logic and revert to feeling, nevertheless, her conviction that these sites must be defended – that their meaning and what they offer is mysteriously crucial – strengthens. "Dust, or the substance, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a Blakean struggle between purity and experience is established.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
