Things are falling apart in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that seems, here more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Organizations are failing, or reassembling themselves along new and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from authorities, and gathering in the chambers of religious leaders, the coffers of conglomerates, the hands of mobs. "Some force is at work, very quietly, gradually", says merchant a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and durable are deteriorating and collapsing."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that something might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that propels this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding venture into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting realm he first unveiled in the distant past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose geography maps on to that of the real world, but whose history tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and act like us, but are joined by daemons, essences in creature form; where the air are filled with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, transports are ridden and drinks is drunk, and mature academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in the prequel, the introductory book with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still recognisably the sharp and persistent protagonist of the earlier books, but older, sadder, warier, less sure. This restraint is heightened by her separation from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
The daemon's resolve to leave in search of that childlike part of Lyra which she may have forgotten (an aspect which he represents as her "imagination"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw Lyra undertake a picaresque trek across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and danger on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the religious governing authority, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of rigid, bureaucratic malice – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's family member, who faults her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the position of president of the authority's governing body, and is set on using his newfound power to expand the institution's rule. Malcolm Polstead, who rescued infant Lyra to refuge along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in spycraft: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about Delamare's intentions. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and valuable rose oil which appears in some way to be the cause of a societal and financial disturbance spreading out from the region. The extract is viewed by certain groups as a marketable product, by alternate groups as a empirical or mystical phenomenon, and by yet others – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a origin of evil; an insult that must be eradicated. The question of its source, what it stands for, and whether it should be eliminated or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to His Dark Materials, our protagonist's actions, and her destiny, are shown to be deeply entwined with the future of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran largely in parallel. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the original series, Lyra's actions and her destiny are revealed to be inseparably woven with the fate of the realm. Her individual quest to reconnect with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the central conflict in a larger conflict with an controlling government which, as these systems always have, is attempting to stifle freedom of thinking, innovation and art: all the personal, rebellious ways in which humans can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the finding of a series of curious openings in the fabric of the Earth's atmosphere: gateways that seem to give on to different dimensions. A particular window manifests to be the source of the much debated rose oil. The church, with Delamare at its head, classifies these portals as a threat to the church's orthodoxy and aims to eliminate them. As the heroine begins to move from inflexible logic and back to feeling, yet, her belief that these sites must be defended – that their meaning and their value is somehow essential – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The stage for a poetic tussle between naivety and maturity is established.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
