Things are unraveling in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the second of the author's grand trilogies set in a universe that manifests, here more than ever, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or restructuring themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is draining from authorities, and accumulating in the halls of theocrats, the coffers of conglomerates, the hands of crowds. "Something is at work, silently, very subtly", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and solid are faltering and failing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Just what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels the concluding book, which resumes where the previous book left off. This is, by all accounts, the author's concluding venture into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling world he first introduced three decades past, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose terrain aligns with that of the real world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the people appear and reason and act like us, but are joined by animal souls, beings in beast form; where the skies are teeming with witches and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, buses are ridden and beverages is drunk, and older professors carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still clearly the sharp and tenacious main character of the prior volumes, but aged, more sorrowful, more cautious, less sure. This limitation is intensified by her division from her soul companion, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in quest of that youthful part of her which she may have forgotten (an trait which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which saw the protagonist undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and risk on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of austere, procedural wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – our protagonist's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of leader of the authority's High Council, and is determined on using his newfound authority to broaden the institution's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who saved young the heroine to security along a flooded Thames as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an academic with a additional duty in espionage: he is dispatched to the city to find out more about the antagonist's aims. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and precious botanical extract which manifests somehow to be the origin of a societal and economic upheaval rippling out from that area. The oil is viewed by certain groups as a commercial product, by alternate groups as a research-based or mystical wonder, and by yet others – the zealous "highland figures" – as a origin of evil; an insult that must be eradicated. The dilemma of where it comes from, its meaning, and whether it should be eliminated or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like the first series, our protagonist's deeds, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inextricably linked with the fate of the universe
In the previous volume, these storylines ran largely in parallel. In this final book, they come together. As in the first trilogy, the protagonist's movements and her fate are shown to be inseparably woven with the destiny of the universe. Her private mission to reunite with her companion and regain her vision becomes the central conflict in a wider battle with an controlling system which, as these systems typically do, is attempting to quell freedom of reason, originality and art: all the internal, defiant ways in which people can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The story begins with the finding of a set of curious fissures in the makeup of the planet's atmosphere: windows that appear to open into alternate realities. A particular window appears to be the source of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The authority, with Delamare at its helm, classifies these openings as a problem to the religion's orthodoxy and sets out to destroy them. As the heroine begins to turn away from inflexible logic and revert to instinct, yet, her conviction that these sites must be protected – that their significance and their value is somehow essential – increases. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a philosophical conflict between naivety and maturity is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
