Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a realm that manifests, in this volume especially, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along unfamiliar and troubling lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is draining from states, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the vaults of conglomerates, the grasp of crowds. "Something is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and durable are weakening and giving way."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Just what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that drives the concluding book, which continues where its predecessor ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding foray into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting realm he first introduced in the distant past, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose landscape aligns with that of our world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and behave like us, but are paired by external spirits, essences in animal form; where the skies are teeming with witches and gryphons, but underneath, buses are caught and tea is drunk, and middle-aged academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the prequel, the origin story with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still recognisably the prickly and persistent protagonist of the prior volumes, but aged, more sorrowful, more cautious, less sure. This circumscription is intensified by her split from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
The daemon's resolve to go off in search of that childlike part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an quality which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which followed Lyra undertake a picaresque journey across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with wonder and peril on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the religious ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie embodiment of rigid, bureaucratic wickedness – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – Lyra's relative, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of president of the Magisterium's governing body, and is intent on using his newfound authority to extend the institution's control. Malcolm Polstead, who carried baby the heroine to refuge along a swollen river as an child in the first book, is now an academic with a sideline in spycraft: he is dispatched to the city to learn more about the antagonist's intentions. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and valuable rose oil which appears somehow to be the source of a social and economic disturbance emanating out from Central Asia. The substance is regarded by various factions as a tradeable product, by different parties as a scientific or mystical phenomenon, and by further factions – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of darkness; an challenge that must be eradicated. The dilemma of its source, what it stands for, and whether it should be eliminated or protected is becoming urgent.
Like His Dark Materials, our protagonist's actions, and her fate, are shown to be inseparably entwined with the future of the realm
In its predecessor, these storylines ran broadly in parallel. In the conclusion, they come together. As in the first trilogy, her choices and her destiny are unveiled to be inextricably linked with the future of the universe. Her private journey to reunite with her soul and recover her vision becomes the primary struggle in a broader war with an oppressive government which, as these systems always have, is attempting to quell autonomy of thought, creativity and art: all the inner, resistant ways in which humans can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the unveiling of a set of unusual cracks in the structure of the Earth's atmosphere: portals that seem to lead to different dimensions. A particular portal seems to be the point of the much debated botanical substance. The authority, with the antagonist at its head, classifies these windows as a threat to the church's doctrine and aims to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from strict rationalism and revert to instinct, nevertheless, her conviction that these locations must be protected – that their meaning and their value is mysteriously vital – increases. "Dust, or the extract, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we label it," she says, "it is necessary." The setting for a philosophical struggle between innocence and maturity is set.
Plot Rhythm and Protagonist Growth
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
