Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that manifests, in this volume especially, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Organizations are failing, or restructuring themselves along novel and troubling lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from governments, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the hands of rioters. "Something is at work, silently, very subtly", says trader a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and strong are deteriorating and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Exactly what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that animates the concluding book, which picks up where its predecessor concluded. This is, according to many, the author's last venture into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling universe he first unveiled in the distant past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose landscape aligns with that of our world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and reason and behave like us, but are paired by animal souls, essences in beast form; where the skies are filled with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, vehicles are caught and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged academics carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still clearly the sharp and tenacious main character of the earlier books, but aged, sadder, more careful, less sure. This limitation is intensified by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to go off in pursuit of that innocent part of her which she seems to have lost (an trait which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with amazement and peril on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the religious governing authority, and the author's masterfully eerie embodiment of austere, procedural evil – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's uncle, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of leader of the church's ruling assembly, and is set on using his fresh authority to broaden the church's control. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued baby Lyra to security along a swollen Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an academic with a sideline in espionage: he is dispatched to a key location to discover more about his intentions. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and valuable essential oil which appears somehow to be the origin of a societal and financial upheaval rippling out from the region. The oil is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable product, by alternate groups as a empirical or esoteric wonder, and by others still – the extremist "highland figures" – as a origin of malevolence; an insult that must be obliterated. The issue of where it comes from, its significance, and whether it should be destroyed or preserved is becoming urgent.
Similar to His Dark Materials, the heroine's actions, and her fate, are revealed to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the universe
In its predecessor, these narratives ran mostly in tandem. In the conclusion, they merge. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's movements and her fate are shown to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the universe. Her individual mission to rejoin with her daemon and recover her imagination becomes the key conflict in a larger war with an controlling system which, as these systems always have, is attempting to quell autonomy of thought, creativity and expression: all the inner, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The book starts with the unveiling of a set of unusual cracks in the makeup of the world's atmosphere: gateways that seem to open into alternate realities. An example of a portal manifests to be the source of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its leadership, classifies these portals as a problem to the church's beliefs and aims to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from rigid reason and revert to feeling, nevertheless, her certainty that these places must be defended – that what they stand for and what they provide is somehow crucial – grows. "The substance, or the substance, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a Blakean tussle between innocence and maturity is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
