Things are unraveling in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the next of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that manifests, now more than ever, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, 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". Authority is draining from states, and accumulating in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the grasp of mobs. "An element is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the Silk Roads from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and solid are weakening and failing."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Just what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that animates the concluding book, which picks up where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, according to many, Pullman's concluding excursion into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling realm he first introduced three decades past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a world whose geography maps on to that of our world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and think and act like us, but are accompanied by external spirits, essences in animal form; where the air are teeming with witches and gryphons, but underneath, vehicles are caught and drinks is consumed, and older professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the first volume, the origin story with which the author began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still distinctly the sharp and persistent main character of the prior volumes, but older, more sorrowful, more careful, less sure. This limitation is amplified by her split from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
The daemon's resolve to leave in quest of that innocent part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an trait which he represents as her "creativity"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with marvel and danger on the way. But from the outset, profound shifts were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's governing authority, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of rigid, bureaucratic evil – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the office of leader of the authority's ruling assembly, and is set on using his recently acquired power to broaden the church's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who carried young Lyra to security along a overflowing Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in spycraft: he is sent to the city to discover more about his plans. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and valuable botanical extract which seems somehow to be the origin of a social and economic crisis emanating out from the region. The oil is viewed by some as a tradeable product, by different parties as a research-based or spiritual phenomenon, and by yet others – the extremist "highland figures" – as a source of malevolence; an challenge that must be obliterated. The question of its source, its significance, and if it should be removed or preserved is escalating in importance.
Like His Dark Materials, our protagonist's actions, and her fate, are shown to be inextricably connected with the fate of the world
In the previous volume, these storylines ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they converge. As in His Dark Materials, Lyra's actions and her destiny are revealed to be deeply linked with the destiny of the realm. Her individual journey to reunite with her companion and regain her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a wider war with an controlling government which, as such authorities typically do, is seeking to stifle freedom of thought, innovation and culture: all the personal, resistant ways in which individuals can be free.
Atmospheric Fissures and Ideological Conflicts
The book starts with the finding of a collection of curious fissures in the fabric of the planet's sky: gateways that seem to open into alternate realities. One such portal manifests to be the point of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The authority, with Delamare at its helm, classifies these openings as a threat to the religion's orthodoxy and sets out to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from rigid logic and return to intuition, nevertheless, her belief that these places must be protected – that their significance and what they offer is mysteriously vital – increases. "Dust, or the substance, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a philosophical tussle between innocence and maturity is established.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
