Tings are collapsing in the last installment of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that appears, now more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Organizations are weakening, or restructuring 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". Authority is draining from authorities, and pooling in the halls of religious leaders, the vaults of business empires, the control of rioters. "Some force is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his place in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and strong are weakening and collapsing."
Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that propels the concluding book, which picks up where the previous book concluded. This is, according to many, the author's concluding excursion into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting universe he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose geography corresponds to that of the real world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the people appear and think and act like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, souls in creature form; where the skies are filled with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, buses are ridden and drinks is sipped, and middle-aged professors carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a infant in the first volume, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still clearly the spiky and tenacious main character of the prior volumes, but aged, more sorrowful, more cautious, more doubtful. This restraint is heightened by her split from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in pursuit of that innocent part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an trait which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, meeting with wonder and risk on the way. But from the start, underlying forces were in play, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the church's ruling body, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of strict, administrative evil – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the office of head of the church's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound power to broaden the religion's dominium. Another protagonist, who rescued infant Lyra to safety along a flooded Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in espionage: he is assigned to the city to learn more about the antagonist's intentions. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and precious rose oil which appears somehow to be the source of a societal and financial upheaval spreading out from the region. The extract is viewed by various factions as a tradeable good, by different parties as a empirical or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be destroyed. The question of its source, its significance, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is becoming urgent.
Like the original trilogy, the heroine's actions, and her future, are demonstrated to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran broadly in tandem. In this final book, they merge. As in the first trilogy, the protagonist's movements and her path are shown to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the realm. Her individual journey to reconnect with her soul and recover her creativity becomes the central struggle in a broader battle with an authoritarian system which, as such regimes often attempt, is seeking to suppress autonomy of thought, originality and expression: all the inner, rebellious ways in which people can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The book opens with the discovery of a series of curious cracks in the structure of the Earth's air: windows that appear to lead to different dimensions. One such portal appears to be the source of the highly contested botanical substance. The authority, with the antagonist at its helm, designates these portals as a threat to the institution's beliefs and sets out to destroy them. As the heroine begins to move from inflexible rationalism and return to instinct, however, her certainty that these locations must be defended – that their significance and their value is somehow essential – increases. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a poetic struggle between naivety and experience is established.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
