Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a universe that seems, in this volume especially, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is ruining the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is draining from authorities, and gathering in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of corporations, the grasp of rioters. "Some force is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his post in an city cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and strong are deteriorating and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that propels the concluding book, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, reportedly, the author's final excursion into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting universe he first introduced 30 years ago, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose landscape corresponds to that of the real world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals look and reason and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, beings in beast form; where the heavens are filled with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, vehicles are caught and beverages is consumed, and mature scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a child in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the prequel, the origin story with which the author began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the spiky and tenacious protagonist of the previous installments, but aged, sadder, more careful, less sure. This limitation is intensified by her split from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
His choice to leave in search of that childlike part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he symbolizes as her "imagination"), and her mission 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, facing with marvel and risk on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in play, and darker forces at work. The church authority – the faith's governing authority, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of strict, procedural wickedness – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. The antagonist – the heroine's family member, who faults her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of head of the Magisterium's governing body, and is set on using his newfound influence to extend the church's dominium. Another protagonist, who rescued infant the heroine to security along a overflowing Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in intelligence work: he is sent to Geneva to learn more about his plans. And beneath all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and precious essential oil which seems in some way to be the source of a social and financial disturbance rippling out from that area. The oil is seen by certain groups as a commercial product, by alternate groups as a empirical or esoteric miracle, and by others still – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a origin of malevolence; an challenge that must be eradicated. The issue of where it comes from, its significance, and if it should be eliminated or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in His Dark Materials, Lyra's deeds, and her fate, are demonstrated to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they come together. Similar to the original series, Lyra's actions and her path are shown to be deeply woven with the destiny of the universe. Her private journey to rejoin with her companion and rediscover her vision becomes the primary battleground in a broader war with an oppressive system which, as such authorities typically do, is striving to stifle independence of reason, creativity and expression: all the inner, rebellious ways in which individuals can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The book begins with the unveiling of a set of curious cracks in the makeup of the Earth's sky: portals that look to give on to alternate realities. An example of a window appears to be the origin of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The Magisterium, with its leader at its helm, classifies these portals as a problem to the institution's doctrine and aims to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to move from rigid logic and revert to instinct, yet, her conviction that these locations must be protected – that their significance and what they offer is in some way essential – grows. "The substance, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a philosophical tussle between innocence and maturity is established.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
