Things are falling apart in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of the author's masterful trilogies set in a realm that seems, here more than ever, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is draining from governments, and gathering in the chambers of religious leaders, the coffers of corporations, the control of crowds. "An element is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and durable are weakening and failing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that drives the concluding book, which picks up where its predecessor ended. This is, according to many, the author's concluding foray into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling universe he first unveiled in the distant past, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a world whose landscape corresponds to that of our world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the people appear and think and act like us, but are paired by daemons, essences in animal form; where the heavens are filled with witches and gryphons, but beneath those skies, buses are taken and beverages is drunk, and older scholars carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the first volume, the origin story with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still clearly the spiky and determined main character of the previous installments, but more mature, more sorrowful, warier, less sure. This restraint is heightened by her division from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
The daemon's resolve to go off in search of that childlike part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an trait which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which chronicled Lyra undertake a wandering voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with amazement and peril on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of austere, procedural evil – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's relative, who blames her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of head of the authority's governing body, and is determined on using his recently acquired authority to extend the religion's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who carried young the heroine to safety along a swollen river as an child in the first book, is now an academic with a additional duty in spycraft: he is assigned to a key location to learn more about his intentions. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and precious botanical extract which manifests in some way to be the origin of a social and financial disturbance rippling out from that area. The extract is viewed by certain groups as a commercial good, by others as a scientific or esoteric wonder, and by others still – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of malevolence; an insult that must be obliterated. The question of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be removed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Like the original trilogy, our protagonist's decisions, and her fate, are revealed to be inextricably linked with the future of the universe
In its predecessor, these narratives ran broadly in parallel. In this final book, they come together. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's actions and her path are unveiled to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the world. Her individual mission to rejoin with her companion and regain her creativity becomes the key battleground in a larger conflict with an authoritarian system which, as these systems always have, is seeking to stifle freedom of reason, originality and art: all the personal, rebellious ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The novel begins with the discovery of a set of unusual fissures in the structure of the Earth's sky: gateways that seem to lead to alternate realities. An example of a opening seems to be the source of the much debated botanical substance. The authority, with the antagonist at its leadership, designates these openings as a threat to the religion's beliefs and aims to destroy them. As Lyra begins to move from strict rationalism and revert to instinct, yet, her conviction that these locations must be protected – that their meaning and their value is in some way essential – grows. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the vision, or the field of roses, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a Blakean conflict between purity and maturity is established.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
