Things are falling apart in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of the author's masterful trilogies set in a universe that manifests, now more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reassembling themselves along novel and troubling lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is draining from states, and accumulating in the offices of religious leaders, the treasuries of corporations, the grasp of crowds. "Some force is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says businessman Mustafa Bey, keeping a vigilant eye on the Silk Roads from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and durable are deteriorating and failing."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Exactly what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that drives the concluding book, which continues where the previous book ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's last excursion into the elaborately built, endlessly enchanting universe he first revealed three decades past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose landscape aligns with that of our world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals appear and reason and behave like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, essences in beast form; where the air are populated with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, buses are caught and tea is sipped, and middle-aged academics carry fancy shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the spiky and tenacious heroine of the prior volumes, but aged, more sorrowful, warier, more doubtful. This circumscription is amplified by her split from her animal guide, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the trigger which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to go off in quest of that youthful part of her which she appears to have shed (an quality which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her journey to rejoin with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which saw the protagonist undertake a picaresque voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with amazement and risk on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in play, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the religious governing authority, and Pullman's deliciously chilling embodiment of rigid, procedural evil – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's relative, who faults her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the position of head of the Magisterium's High Council, and is determined on using his newfound power to broaden the institution's rule. A key character, who saved baby Lyra to refuge along a overflowing Thames as an child in La Belle Sauvage, is now an Oxford don with a sideline in espionage: he is assigned to a key location to learn more about his plans. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and valuable botanical extract which appears mysteriously to be the cause of a social and financial upheaval rippling out from that area. The extract is seen by various factions as a commercial commodity, by different parties as a scientific or esoteric phenomenon, and by others still – the fanatical "mountain dwellers" – as a origin of malevolence; an affront that must be destroyed. The dilemma of its origins, its meaning, and whether it should be eliminated or safeguarded is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the original trilogy, the heroine's deeds, and her future, are demonstrated to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these narratives ran largely in parallel. In the conclusion, they converge. Similar to the first trilogy, her actions and her path are revealed to be inseparably linked with the future of the universe. Her individual journey to rejoin with her companion and rediscover her vision becomes the central battleground in a larger conflict with an controlling regime which, as such authorities typically do, is striving to suppress autonomy of thinking, creativity and expression: all the inner, defiant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The novel starts with the finding of a series of curious cracks in the makeup of the Earth's sky: portals that seem to give on to alternate realities. An example of a window manifests to be the origin of the much debated botanical substance. The church, with the antagonist at its head, designates these portals as a problem to the institution's doctrine and endeavors to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to move from rigid rationalism and return to intuition, yet, her certainty that these sites must be protected – that what they stand for and their value is mysteriously vital – grows. "The substance, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or whatever we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a philosophical tussle between innocence and maturity is prepared.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At 640 pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
