Things are unraveling in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a world that manifests, in this volume especially, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from governments, and gathering in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of business empires, the hands of mobs. "Some force is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and durable are weakening and giving way."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that animates this final volume, which picks up where the previous book left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final excursion into the elaborately built, deeply captivating realm he first introduced in the distant past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose geography aligns with that of the real world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the people appear and reason and act like us, but are joined by daemons, essences in beast form; where the heavens are teeming with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but below, buses are caught and tea is drunk, and older scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the first volume, the origin story with which the author began the series, is now a adult: still recognisably the prickly and persistent heroine of the previous installments, but more mature, sadder, more cautious, less sure. This circumscription is heightened by her split from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which led him to leave her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
His choice to depart in pursuit of that innocent part of her which she seems to have lost (an trait which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which followed the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with amazement and risk on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in play, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the church's ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie representation of austere, procedural malice – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. The antagonist – Lyra's family member, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the role of president of the authority's ruling assembly, and is set on using his recently acquired influence to expand the church's dominium. A key character, who carried infant Lyra to safety along a overflowing river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is dispatched to the city to learn more about Delamare's plans. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and precious essential oil which appears somehow to be the source of a societal and economic disturbance emanating out from the region. The oil is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable commodity, by others as a empirical or spiritual miracle, and by further factions – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be eradicated. The question of where it comes from, its significance, and whether it should be destroyed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
As in the first series, the heroine's deeds, and her destiny, are shown to be deeply linked with the destiny of the realm
In its predecessor, these storylines ran mostly in tandem. In the conclusion, they merge. As in the original series, her actions and her fate are shown to be inextricably woven with the future of the world. Her personal journey to rejoin with her companion and recover her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a larger conflict with an oppressive regime which, as these systems always have, is attempting to quell independence of thought, innovation and culture: all the inner, defiant ways in which people can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Moral Battles
The story begins with the finding of a set of unusual cracks in the fabric of the world's atmosphere: gateways that seem to lead to other worlds. One such opening appears to be the origin of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The church, with Delamare at its helm, designates these openings as a problem to the religion's beliefs and endeavors to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to move from rigid logic and return to intuition, nevertheless, her conviction that these places must be defended – that their significance and what they offer is somehow essential – grows. "Dust, or the substance, or the vision, or the field of roses, or whatever we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a Blakean struggle between innocence and maturity is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
