Tings are falling apart in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a realm that manifests, now more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or restructuring themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from governments, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of business empires, the grasp of rioters. "An element is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says businessman a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and solid are deteriorating and giving way."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that animates this final volume, which continues where its predecessor concluded. This is, according to many, the author's concluding excursion into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling realm he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose geography corresponds to that of this world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and think and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, beings in creature form; where the heavens are teeming with sorceresses and gryphons, but beneath those skies, vehicles are taken and tea is drunk, and mature professors carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still recognisably the prickly and persistent protagonist of the prior volumes, but older, melancholic, more careful, less certain. This restraint is intensified by her separation from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to go off in quest of that youthful part of her which she seems to have lost (an quality which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw Lyra undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with amazement and risk on the way. But from the outset, underlying forces were in motion, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie representation of rigid, administrative wickedness – is under fresh command, and asserting its power. The antagonist – Lyra's relative, who holds responsible her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the role of leader of the Magisterium's governing body, and is determined on using his recently acquired power to expand the church's control. Another protagonist, who carried baby the heroine to safety along a overflowing river as an young boy in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a sideline in espionage: he is sent to Geneva to learn more about Delamare's plans. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and valuable essential oil which seems somehow to be the origin of a social and financial crisis rippling out from the region. The extract is seen by some as a marketable good, by others as a research-based or esoteric miracle, and by yet others – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a origin of malevolence; an challenge that must be eradicated. The issue of its source, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or preserved is escalating in importance.
Similar to the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her fate, are demonstrated to be inextricably linked with the fate of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran broadly in tandem. In this final book, they merge. Like His Dark Materials, the protagonist's movements and her destiny are shown to be inseparably woven with the destiny of the universe. Her personal journey to reunite with her companion and rediscover her creativity becomes the key struggle in a broader conflict with an controlling regime which, as such authorities often attempt, is seeking to suppress independence of thinking, originality and culture: all the inner, resistant ways in which humans can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The story opens with the unveiling of a collection of curious fissures in the structure of the Earth's atmosphere: windows that seem to lead to different dimensions. An example of a window manifests to be the origin of the much debated rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its head, labels these windows as a challenge to the religion's orthodoxy and aims to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to move from rigid rationalism and revert to intuition, nevertheless, her conviction that these places must be protected – that what they stand for and what they provide is mysteriously essential – increases. "The substance, or the substance, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a philosophical struggle between innocence and knowledge is set.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the