Tings are falling apart in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that appears, now more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reassembling themselves along new and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is draining from governments, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the grasp of mobs. "An element is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and strong are faltering and failing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Just what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that propels the concluding book, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's last venture into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling realm he first introduced three decades past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose landscape corresponds to that of this world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans look and reason and behave like us, but are paired by animal souls, essences in beast form; where the heavens are teeming with witches and legendary creatures, but below, transports are caught and beverages is consumed, and middle-aged professors carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first met as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the first volume, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a mature individual: still clearly the spiky and tenacious main character of the earlier books, but aged, melancholic, warier, less certain. This circumscription is intensified by her separation from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to depart in pursuit of that innocent part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he represents as her "vision"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which followed Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with wonder and danger on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's masterfully eerie representation of strict, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's family member, who holds responsible her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the position of head of the church's High Council, and is determined on using his newfound power to broaden the church's rule. Another protagonist, who saved infant Lyra to safety along a flooded river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in espionage: he is assigned to a key location to learn more about his plans. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and valuable essential oil which seems in some way to be the origin of a social and economic crisis spreading out from that area. The extract is regarded by certain groups as a tradeable commodity, by different parties as a empirical or spiritual miracle, and by others still – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of darkness; an challenge that must be obliterated. The dilemma of where it comes from, its meaning, and if it should be removed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the original trilogy, Lyra's decisions, and her fate, are revealed to be deeply connected with the fate of the universe
In the previous volume, these narratives ran broadly in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's movements and her path are revealed to be deeply woven with the fate of the world. Her individual quest to rejoin with her soul and rediscover her vision becomes the key struggle in a larger battle with an oppressive system which, as such authorities typically do, is attempting to quell autonomy of thinking, innovation and culture: all the internal, defiant ways in which individuals can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The novel begins with the discovery of a set of strange cracks in the makeup of the world's air: windows that seem to lead to other worlds. One such opening seems to be the point of the fiercely disputed rose oil. The authority, with its leader at its helm, designates these portals as a challenge to the institution's beliefs and endeavors to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to move from strict reason and back to intuition, however, her certainty that these places must be defended – that their meaning and what they offer is somehow essential – strengthens. "The substance, or the extract, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a philosophical tussle between purity and knowledge is prepared.
Story Tempo and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
