Tings are collapsing in the last installment of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a world that appears, now more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or restructuring themselves along novel and troubling lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is shifting from governments, and gathering in the offices of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the control of mobs. "Something is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says trader a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and solid are weakening and giving way."
Core Enigma and Lyra's Journey
Just what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the question that drives the concluding book, which continues where the previous book left off. This is, according to many, the author's concluding venture into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling realm he first introduced in the distant past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose geography corresponds to that of our world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans appear and think and behave like us, but are joined by external spirits, beings in creature form; where the skies are populated with witches and legendary creatures, but underneath, transports are taken and drinks is sipped, and older academics carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a child in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the first volume, the origin story with which the author began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still distinctly the prickly and determined main character of the earlier books, but more mature, more sorrowful, more cautious, less sure. This restraint is amplified by her division 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 depart in pursuit of that innocent part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he represents as her "vision"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with marvel and peril on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in motion, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's deliciously chilling representation of strict, bureaucratic malice – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's family member, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of president of the church's High Council, and is set on using his fresh authority to broaden the religion's dominium. Malcolm Polstead, who carried baby the heroine to safety along a flooded river as an child in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in intelligence work: he is assigned to a key location to find out more about Delamare's intentions. And underlying all of this is the puzzle surrounding the scarce and precious botanical extract which appears somehow to be the origin of a social and economic disturbance emanating out from that area. The extract is seen by various factions as a commercial good, by different parties as a research-based or spiritual miracle, and by further factions – the extremist "mountain dwellers" – as a wellspring of evil; an insult that must be obliterated. The issue of its source, its meaning, and if it should be removed or protected is becoming urgent.
As in the original trilogy, Lyra's deeds, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inextricably linked with the future of the realm
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran mostly in tandem. In this final book, they come together. Like the first trilogy, the protagonist's movements and her fate are shown to be inseparably linked with the future of the realm. Her personal journey to reunite with her companion and regain her imagination becomes the primary struggle in a wider conflict with an authoritarian regime which, as such regimes typically do, is seeking to suppress autonomy of thinking, innovation and expression: all the internal, resistant ways in which individuals can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The novel begins with the finding of a series of strange cracks in the makeup of the world's atmosphere: portals that look to give on to different dimensions. One such opening appears to be the source of the highly contested botanical substance. The church, with Delamare at its helm, classifies these openings as a problem to the church's beliefs and aims to eradicate them. As Lyra begins to shift from inflexible logic and return to intuition, nevertheless, her belief that these sites must be preserved – that what they stand for and their value is in some way vital – increases. "Dust, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a philosophical tussle between naivety and experience is established.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
