Things are unraveling in the last installment of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's masterful trilogies set in a realm that manifests, now more than ever, as a intense and slanted version of our own. Institutions are weakening, or reassembling themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from states, and gathering in the chambers of theocrats, the treasuries of corporations, the grasp of mobs. "An element is at work, stealthily, gradually", says trader a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and strong are faltering and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that drives this final volume, which picks up where the previous book concluded. This is, according to many, the author's concluding venture into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling universe he first introduced in the distant past, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a domain whose landscape corresponds to that of our world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and act like us, but are joined by external spirits, essences in creature form; where the heavens are filled with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, buses are caught and tea is sipped, and older scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the first volume, the origin story with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a adult: still recognisably the spiky and persistent protagonist of the prior volumes, but older, more sorrowful, more careful, less certain. This circumscription is heightened by her division from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to leave in search of that youthful part of her which she may have forgotten (an trait which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which chronicled Lyra undertake a picaresque journey across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and risk on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the church's ruling body, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of strict, administrative wickedness – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's relative, who faults her for his sibling's death – has worked himself into the position of president of the Magisterium's governing body, and is determined on using his recently acquired authority to broaden the institution's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who carried young the heroine to safety along a overflowing river as an young boy in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in espionage: he is assigned to a key location to discover more about the antagonist's plans. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and precious botanical extract which seems mysteriously to be the origin of a social and financial crisis emanating out from the region. The extract is seen by certain groups as a marketable good, by alternate groups as a research-based or mystical miracle, and by others still – the extremist "highland figures" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be destroyed. The issue of where it comes from, its meaning, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Similar to the original trilogy, our protagonist's deeds, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the world
In the previous volume, these plots ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they merge. As in His Dark Materials, Lyra's movements and her path are revealed to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the realm. Her individual journey to reunite with her soul and rediscover her creativity becomes the key struggle in a larger conflict with an controlling system which, as such authorities often attempt, is striving to suppress freedom of reason, originality and expression: all the internal, defiant ways in which humans can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The story opens with the finding of a collection of strange cracks in the structure of the Earth's atmosphere: windows that seem to lead to other worlds. One such portal appears to be the origin of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The church, with Delamare at its head, labels these windows as a problem to the institution's doctrine and endeavors to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to move from rigid logic and revert to intuition, however, her certainty that these locations must be defended – that what they stand for and what they provide is mysteriously vital – strengthens. "Dust, or the substance, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a poetic conflict between innocence and maturity is prepared.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
