Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the next of the author's masterful trilogies set in a universe that appears, in this volume especially, as a energized and tilted version of our own. Institutions are failing, or restructuring themselves along new and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from governments, and accumulating in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of corporations, the hands of rioters. "Some force is at work, very quietly, very subtly", says trader a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his seat in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were firm and strong are faltering and giving way."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the inquiry that drives the concluding book, which picks up where the previous book concluded. This is, according to many, Pullman's last foray into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting world he first unveiled in the distant past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose geography corresponds to that of our world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and behave like us, but are paired by daemons, beings in creature form; where the heavens are filled with enchantresses and gryphons, but below, transports are caught and drinks is sipped, and older professors carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first introduced to as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the prequel, the prequel with which Pullman began the series, is now a adult: still recognisably the spiky and determined heroine of the previous installments, but aged, more sorrowful, warier, less certain. This circumscription is heightened by her split from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to depart in quest of that childlike part of her which she may have forgotten (an trait which he represents as her "creativity"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which followed Lyra undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with marvel and peril on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the faith's ruling body, and the author's masterfully eerie representation of austere, administrative wickedness – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – Lyra's family member, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of president of the Magisterium's ruling assembly, and is intent on using his fresh influence to broaden the institution's rule. A key character, who saved baby the heroine to safety along a overflowing Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a additional duty in spycraft: he is dispatched to the city to discover more about his intentions. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and valuable essential oil which seems in some way to be the source of a societal and financial crisis rippling out from the region. The oil is regarded by various factions as a tradeable good, by alternate groups as a empirical or esoteric phenomenon, and by others still – the zealous "mountain dwellers" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its origins, what it stands for, and whether it should be eliminated or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
Similar to the original trilogy, our protagonist's decisions, and her future, are revealed to be inseparably connected with the destiny of the world
In its predecessor, these storylines ran mostly in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. Similar to the original series, her choices and her destiny are unveiled to be deeply linked with the destiny of the universe. Her individual mission to reconnect with her soul and rediscover her vision becomes the key conflict in a larger war with an authoritarian government which, as such authorities always have, is attempting to suppress autonomy of thinking, creativity and art: all the internal, defiant ways in which humans can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The book starts with the unveiling of a collection of curious fissures in the fabric of the planet's sky: windows that look to open into different dimensions. An example of a opening seems to be the source of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The Magisterium, with its leader at its leadership, classifies these openings as a challenge to the institution's beliefs and aims to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from strict reason and back to feeling, however, her certainty that these places must be defended – that their meaning and their value is mysteriously vital – increases. "Dust, or the substance, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a philosophical conflict between innocence and maturity is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
