Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that seems, now more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is draining from governments, and gathering in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the grasp of rioters. "Something is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were secure and durable are weakening and giving way."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that drives the concluding book, which resumes where the previous book left off. This is, according to many, the author's concluding venture into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting universe he first revealed three decades past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose landscape maps on to that of this world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans look and think and behave like us, but are joined by daemons, beings in creature form; where the skies are populated with witches and mythical beasts, but underneath, vehicles are taken and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged scholars carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the sharp and tenacious main character of the previous installments, but aged, sadder, warier, less sure. This restraint is amplified by her separation from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to depart in pursuit of that childlike part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an quality which he represents as her "creativity"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw Lyra undertake a wandering trek across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and risk on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the religious governing authority, and the author's brilliantly sinister embodiment of austere, bureaucratic wickedness – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. The antagonist – Lyra's relative, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the role of president of the church's governing body, and is intent on using his recently acquired power to extend the religion's dominium. A key character, who rescued infant Lyra to security along a flooded river as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in spycraft: he is assigned to a key location to find out more about his plans. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and costly essential oil which appears in some way to be the source of a societal and economic disturbance spreading out from the region. The extract is regarded by various factions as a tradeable product, by different parties as a scientific or mystical wonder, and by further factions – the zealous "highland figures" – as a source of malevolence; an challenge that must be eradicated. The question of its source, what it stands for, and whether it should be removed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Similar to the first series, Lyra's actions, and her fate, are shown to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the universe
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they merge. Like the first trilogy, the protagonist's actions and her path are shown to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the universe. Her individual journey to rejoin with her companion and regain her vision becomes the primary conflict in a larger war with an controlling regime which, as such authorities often attempt, is seeking to suppress autonomy of thought, innovation and expression: all the inner, rebellious ways in which humans can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The book opens with the discovery of a series of unusual fissures in the structure of the world's atmosphere: gateways that appear to give on to alternate realities. One such opening appears to be the source of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The authority, with its leader at its head, labels these portals as a problem to the institution's orthodoxy and aims to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from rigid rationalism and back to instinct, yet, her certainty that these places must be protected – that their meaning and their value is in some way vital – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the substance, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a poetic conflict between naivety and experience is set.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
