Tings are unraveling in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a world that manifests, here more than ever, as a intense and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reorganizing themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from authorities, and accumulating in the offices of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the hands of mobs. "Something is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says merchant a merchant figure, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and strong are deteriorating and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Precisely what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that drives this final volume, which picks up where its predecessor ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding foray into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating world he first revealed 30 years ago, with the publication of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose geography maps on to that of our world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the people look and reason and act like us, but are paired by external spirits, souls in beast form; where the skies are teeming with witches and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, buses are ridden and tea is sipped, and middle-aged scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first met as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then saw again as a baby in the first volume, the introductory book with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the prickly and determined main character of the previous installments, but older, sadder, more careful, more doubtful. This restraint is heightened by her split from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to leave in search of that youthful part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with amazement and danger on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in play, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of rigid, administrative malice – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's family member, who faults her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the position of leader of the church's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his newfound influence to expand the church's control. A key character, who carried baby the heroine to safety along a swollen Thames as an young boy in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is assigned to the city to discover more about the antagonist's plans. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and precious botanical extract which manifests somehow to be the source of a societal and financial crisis rippling out from the region. The extract is regarded by some as a marketable good, by others as a scientific or mystical phenomenon, and by others still – the extremist "highland figures" – as a source of darkness; an insult that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be destroyed or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
As in the original trilogy, Lyra's decisions, and her fate, are demonstrated to be inextricably connected with the fate of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran mostly in side by side. In the conclusion, they come together. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's actions and her path are revealed to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the realm. Her personal mission to reconnect with her daemon and rediscover her vision becomes the key conflict in a larger conflict with an controlling government which, as such authorities typically do, is seeking to suppress autonomy of reason, innovation and art: all the inner, rebellious ways in which people can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The novel begins with the finding of a collection of strange openings in the fabric of the Earth's sky: windows that appear to lead to other worlds. One such window appears to be the source of the much debated mystical extract. The church, with the antagonist at its leadership, designates these windows as a problem to the institution's beliefs and sets out to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to move from strict rationalism and back to intuition, yet, her belief that these locations must be protected – that their significance and what they provide is mysteriously crucial – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or whatever we label it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a Blakean struggle between naivety and knowledge is set.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
