Tings are collapsing in the last installment of The Dust Trilogy, the second of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that appears, now more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Organizations are failing, or reorganizing themselves along new and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Power is draining from states, and accumulating in the offices of religious leaders, the coffers of business empires, the control of rioters. "An element is at work, silently, gradually", says trader a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his seat in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and solid are faltering and giving way."
The Central Mystery and Her Quest
Just what that force 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 concluding excursion into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating universe he first revealed in the distant past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose terrain aligns with that of this world, but whose history veers and changes with ours; where the humans appear and think and act like us, but are paired by external spirits, souls in creature form; where the air are filled with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, transports are taken and tea is consumed, and older professors carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first introduced to as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still recognisably the sharp and persistent heroine of the earlier books, but more mature, melancholic, warier, less sure. This circumscription is heightened by her separation from her soul companion, Pan – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to leave in search of that youthful part of the heroine which she may have forgotten (an quality which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the driving forces of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, facing with marvel and peril on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in play, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the religious ruling body, and the author's deliciously chilling representation of austere, procedural malice – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. Marcel Delamare – Lyra's family member, who blames her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of leader of the authority's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound influence to extend the religion's control. A key character, who saved young Lyra to refuge along a flooded Thames as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an academic with a sideline in espionage: he is sent to the city to find out more about Delamare's plans. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the rare and costly botanical extract which appears mysteriously to be the source of a social and financial disturbance emanating out from Central Asia. The substance is seen by some as a marketable product, by different parties as a scientific or esoteric phenomenon, and by others still – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a origin of evil; an challenge that must be destroyed. The dilemma of where it comes from, its meaning, and if it should be destroyed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the original trilogy, Lyra's deeds, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inextricably connected with the destiny of the universe
In the previous volume, these storylines ran mostly in parallel. In the conclusion, they come together. Like the first trilogy, her actions and her path are shown to be deeply entwined with the future of the world. Her individual journey to rejoin with her soul and recover her vision becomes the key battleground in a wider battle with an oppressive regime which, as such authorities always have, is attempting to suppress independence of reason, originality and art: all the internal, defiant ways in which people can be independent.
Atmospheric Fissures and Moral Battles
The book opens with the discovery of a set of strange cracks in the makeup of the world's atmosphere: gateways that seem to give on to other worlds. One such opening appears to be the origin of the much debated mystical extract. The church, with its leader at its head, designates these windows as a challenge to the church's doctrine and endeavors to destroy them. As Lyra begins to move from strict logic and return to intuition, yet, her belief that these locations must be defended – that their meaning and their value is mysteriously vital – increases. "Dust, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a Blakean struggle between purity and maturity is set.
Narrative Pacing and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
