Tings are collapsing in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a world that seems, in this volume especially, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reorganizing themselves along new and disquieting lines. An hidden force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is shifting from states, and pooling in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of business empires, the hands of rioters. "Something is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were secure and durable are weakening and collapsing."
Core Enigma and Her Quest
Precisely what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that animates the concluding book, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, reportedly, the author's last excursion into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating realm he first revealed 30 years ago, with the launch of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose landscape aligns with that of the real world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals appear and think and behave like us, but are accompanied by daemons, souls in animal form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and gryphons, but underneath, buses are taken and tea is consumed, and older scholars carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a infant in La Belle Sauvage, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still recognisably the prickly and tenacious heroine of the previous installments, but older, melancholic, more cautious, less sure. This limitation is intensified by her separation from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, ironically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to depart in quest of that innocent part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an trait which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a adventurous trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with amazement and danger on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's ruling body, and the author's brilliantly sinister representation of rigid, bureaucratic evil – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's relative, who blames her for his sibling's death – has positioned himself into the office of leader of the Magisterium's High Council, and is determined on using his recently acquired authority to expand the church's dominium. Another protagonist, who saved young Lyra to security along a swollen Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an academic with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is sent to a key location to find out more about Delamare's plans. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and costly rose oil which manifests mysteriously to be the cause of a social and financial crisis emanating out from the region. The oil is viewed by some as a tradeable product, by others as a empirical or spiritual wonder, and by others still – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a source of malevolence; an affront that must be obliterated. The issue of its source, what it stands for, and if it should be destroyed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Like the first series, the heroine's deeds, and her destiny, are revealed to be deeply connected with the future of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran mostly in tandem. In this final book, they come together. Like the original series, the protagonist's actions and her path are revealed to be deeply entwined with the future of the realm. Her personal mission to reunite with her daemon and regain her creativity becomes the central conflict in a broader war with an authoritarian regime which, as such regimes typically do, is attempting to stifle autonomy of thinking, originality and culture: all the inner, resistant ways in which humans can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The novel begins with the unveiling of a series of unusual cracks in the makeup of the world's atmosphere: portals that seem to open into other worlds. An example of a opening seems to be the source of the highly contested botanical substance. The Magisterium, with its leader at its leadership, classifies these portals as a threat to the church's beliefs and endeavors to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to move from strict reason and return to instinct, nevertheless, her belief that these places must be protected – that their meaning and what they provide is in some way vital – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the vision, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a Blakean conflict between naivety and maturity is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
