Tings are unraveling in the last installment of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that appears, now more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reorganizing themselves along new and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from governments, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the vaults of business empires, the grasp of mobs. "An element is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and durable are deteriorating and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that drives this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor left off. This is, according to many, the author's last foray into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting universe he first unveiled in the distant past, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a world whose geography corresponds to that of the real world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and act like us, but are joined by daemons, beings in animal form; where the skies are teeming with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, buses are caught and drinks is consumed, and older professors carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still distinctly the prickly and tenacious heroine of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, warier, less sure. This restraint is amplified by her separation from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to depart in search of that childlike part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an trait which he represents as her "vision"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the driving forces of its predecessor, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with amazement and danger on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in action, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the faith's governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of austere, procedural evil – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. The antagonist – the heroine's family member, who blames her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the position of president of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his fresh authority to broaden the institution's control. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued infant the heroine to security along a overflowing river as an young boy in the prequel, is now an academic with a secondary role in espionage: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about the antagonist's plans. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and precious essential oil which seems mysteriously to be the origin of a social and financial upheaval emanating out from the region. The substance is viewed by certain groups as a marketable good, by others as a research-based or esoteric wonder, and by yet others – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a source of darkness; an affront that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its origins, its significance, and whether it should be destroyed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the original trilogy, the heroine's actions, and her future, are revealed to be deeply linked with the destiny of the universe
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in tandem. In this final book, they converge. Like the original series, the protagonist's movements and her fate are shown to be deeply woven with the destiny of the realm. Her individual quest to reunite with her soul and regain her creativity becomes the central conflict in a larger conflict with an authoritarian government which, as such authorities always have, is striving to suppress independence of thinking, creativity and expression: all the internal, defiant ways in which people can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The novel starts with the unveiling of a collection of curious fissures in the makeup of the Earth's sky: gateways that appear to give on to alternate realities. A particular portal appears to be the origin of the much debated mystical extract. The church, with its leader at its leadership, designates these openings as a threat to the church's beliefs and sets out to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to turn away from inflexible rationalism and revert to feeling, however, her conviction that these places must be defended – that what they stand for and their value is mysteriously crucial – strengthens. "Dust, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a poetic tussle between innocence and knowledge is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
