Tings are collapsing in the last installment of The Dust Trilogy, the second of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a world that manifests, in this volume especially, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or restructuring themselves along new and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from authorities, and pooling in the chambers of religious leaders, the coffers of conglomerates, the grasp of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, gradually", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and solid are weakening and failing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Just what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that drives this final volume, which picks up where its predecessor ended. This is, by all accounts, the author's final foray into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating universe he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose landscape maps on to that of our world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans appear and think and act like us, but are joined by daemons, souls in beast form; where the air are filled with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, transports are ridden and tea is drunk, and older professors carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still clearly the prickly and tenacious main character of the previous installments, but aged, more sorrowful, more careful, less certain. This limitation is heightened by her separation from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to go off in pursuit of that innocent part of her which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw Lyra undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with marvel and peril on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the church's controlling power, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of austere, procedural wickedness – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's relative, who blames her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the role of leader of the church's governing body, and is determined on using his recently acquired authority to expand the religion's rule. A key character, who saved young the heroine to security along a overflowing river as an child in the first book, is now an academic with a additional duty in spycraft: he is dispatched to a key location to find out more about his aims. And underlying all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and valuable essential oil which appears somehow to be the cause of a social and financial disturbance spreading out from that area. The extract is seen by some as a marketable product, by others as a research-based or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the extremist "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of malevolence; an affront that must be destroyed. The dilemma of where it comes from, its meaning, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the original trilogy, Lyra's decisions, and her fate, are demonstrated to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the realm
In the previous volume, these plots ran largely in parallel. In the conclusion, they come together. Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's actions and her fate are unveiled to be deeply woven with the future of the universe. Her personal quest to rejoin with her daemon and rediscover her vision becomes the key struggle in a broader war with an oppressive government which, as such regimes always have, is seeking to quell autonomy of reason, creativity and culture: all the internal, resistant ways in which people can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The story starts with the discovery of a collection of unusual openings in the structure of the world's atmosphere: windows that look to lead to different dimensions. One such opening manifests to be the point of the much debated rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its head, classifies these portals as a problem to the religion's orthodoxy and aims to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from rigid logic and return to instinct, nevertheless, her belief that these sites must be protected – that their significance and what they offer is somehow vital – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a poetic struggle between purity and experience is established.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
