Things are collapsing in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the next of the author's grand trilogies set in a world that appears, here more than ever, as a energized and slanted version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or reassembling themselves along new and troubling lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from states, and accumulating in the offices of religious leaders, the coffers of business empires, the control of rioters. "Some force is at work, very quietly, gradually", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were stable and durable are faltering and giving way."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that something might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that animates the concluding book, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth concluded. This is, by all accounts, the author's final foray into the intricately constructed, deeply captivating universe he first unveiled in the distant past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a realm whose geography aligns with that of our world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and reason and behave like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, essences in animal form; where the air are populated with witches and gryphons, but below, transports are taken and drinks is sipped, and older scholars carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a 12-year-old in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began the series, is now a mature individual: still distinctly the sharp and persistent protagonist of the previous installments, but more mature, melancholic, warier, less sure. This limitation is heightened by her separation from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to depart in quest of that youthful part of her which she seems to have lost (an quality which he represents as her "creativity"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which followed the protagonist undertake a picaresque journey across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with amazement and risk on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in play, and sinister powers at work. The Magisterium – the religious governing authority, and the author's masterfully eerie embodiment of austere, administrative evil – is under new leadership, and asserting its power. The antagonist – the heroine's family member, who blames her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of leader of the church's High Council, and is set on using his newfound authority to expand the church's dominium. A key character, who carried baby Lyra to security along a flooded river as an child in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a sideline in intelligence work: he is sent to Geneva to discover more about the antagonist's intentions. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the rare and precious rose oil which manifests in some way to be the source of a societal and financial disturbance spreading out from the region. The oil is seen by some as a marketable good, by others as a empirical or mystical miracle, and by further factions – the zealous "highland figures" – as a wellspring of darkness; an affront that must be destroyed. The question of its origins, what it stands for, and if it should be eliminated or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the original trilogy, the heroine's deeds, and her future, are shown to be inextricably linked with the fate of the universe
In its predecessor, these narratives ran broadly in tandem. In the conclusion, they merge. Like the first trilogy, Lyra's choices and her destiny are shown to be deeply woven with the destiny of the universe. Her individual mission to reunite with her companion and recover her vision becomes the central battleground in a broader war with an oppressive government which, as these systems often attempt, is striving to stifle autonomy of thinking, creativity and expression: all the personal, defiant ways in which humans can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The novel starts with the discovery of a series of strange fissures in the makeup of the planet's atmosphere: portals that appear to open into different dimensions. An example of a window appears to be the point of the fiercely disputed mystical extract. The church, with the antagonist at its helm, classifies these windows as a threat to the church's orthodoxy and aims to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from strict reason and return to feeling, nevertheless, her belief that these locations must be preserved – that what they stand for and their value is somehow essential – grows. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the vision, or the field of roses, or no matter what we name it," she says, "we require it." The stage for a philosophical struggle between innocence and knowledge is prepared.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
