Tings are collapsing in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that manifests, here more than ever, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reassembling themselves along novel and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from authorities, and pooling in the offices of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the control of mobs. "An element is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the Silk Roads from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were secure and durable are faltering and collapsing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that animates this final volume, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, according to many, Pullman's final excursion into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating realm he first revealed 30 years ago, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose geography aligns with that of the real world, but whose chronicles veers and changes with ours; where the individuals appear and think and act like us, but are joined by animal souls, souls in creature form; where the air are teeming with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, transports are caught and beverages is sipped, and middle-aged academics carry fancy shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a child in the original trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the prequel, the introductory book with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a adult: still clearly the spiky and persistent protagonist of the earlier books, but more mature, sadder, warier, less certain. This restraint is amplified by her separation from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to depart in search of that youthful part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an trait which he epitomises as her "imagination"), and her mission to rejoin with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the Caucasus, meeting with amazement and danger on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The church authority – the religious controlling power, and the author's brilliantly sinister incarnation of austere, administrative malice – is under recent guidance, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's relative, who blames her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the position of leader of the authority's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his recently acquired power to extend the religion's rule. Another protagonist, who saved infant the heroine to safety along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a sideline in spycraft: he is sent to Geneva to find out more about the antagonist's plans. And underlying all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and valuable essential oil which appears in some way to be the source of a societal and economic upheaval emanating out from Central Asia. The substance is seen by various factions as a marketable good, by others as a empirical or mystical miracle, and by others still – the zealous "highland figures" – as a origin of evil; an insult that must be eradicated. The question of where it comes from, what it stands for, and whether it should be destroyed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
Like His Dark Materials, our protagonist's decisions, and her future, are revealed to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the world
In its predecessor, these storylines ran largely in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. Similar to His Dark Materials, the protagonist's movements and her path are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the future of the realm. Her private quest to reconnect with her daemon and regain her imagination becomes the primary conflict in a broader conflict with an oppressive government which, as such regimes often attempt, is striving to stifle freedom of reason, originality and expression: all the internal, resistant ways in which individuals can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The story begins with the unveiling of a collection of strange fissures in the fabric of the Earth's air: portals that seem to give on to different dimensions. A particular opening appears to be the point of the much debated rose oil. The church, with the antagonist at its head, labels these portals as a problem to the church's doctrine and sets out to destroy them. As our protagonist begins to move from rigid reason and return to feeling, however, her belief that these locations must be defended – that their significance and their value is mysteriously essential – increases. "The substance, or the extract, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The scene for a Blakean tussle between innocence and knowledge is prepared.
Story Tempo and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
