Tings are collapsing in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a realm that appears, now more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Institutions are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along novel and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is flowing away from authorities, and accumulating in the halls of religious leaders, the vaults of business empires, the hands of mobs. "An element is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were firm and strong are weakening and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the mystery that drives the concluding book, which continues where its predecessor ended. This is, by all accounts, Pullman's concluding foray into the carefully crafted, deeply captivating world he first introduced in the distant past, with the publication of the first trilogy. It's a world whose geography aligns with that of this world, but whose chronicles tacks and jibes with ours; where the individuals look and think and act like us, but are joined by external spirits, beings in animal form; where the air are teeming with witches and gryphons, but below, vehicles are ridden and tea is drunk, and mature scholars carry luxury shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the prequel, the origin story with which Pullman began the series, is now a young woman: still recognisably the spiky and persistent main character of the previous installments, but more mature, more sorrowful, more cautious, more doubtful. This limitation is intensified by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to leave in quest of that youthful part of her which she appears to have shed (an trait which he epitomises as her "creativity"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the catalysts of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, encountering with amazement and danger on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the church's governing authority, and Pullman's brilliantly sinister representation of strict, bureaucratic wickedness – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. The antagonist – the heroine's uncle, who blames her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of head of the Magisterium's governing body, and is determined on using his newfound influence to extend the church's rule. A key character, who saved young the heroine to refuge along a swollen Thames as an young boy in the prequel, is now an academic with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is assigned to a key location to find out more about the antagonist's plans. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the uncommon and precious essential oil which seems in some way to be the origin of a social and financial crisis emanating out from the region. The substance is regarded by some as a marketable commodity, by others as a empirical or spiritual phenomenon, and by yet others – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a source of evil; an affront that must be destroyed. The issue of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be destroyed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the first series, Lyra's actions, and her destiny, are revealed to be inseparably linked with the destiny of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran mostly in tandem. In the conclusion, they merge. Like the first trilogy, the protagonist's movements and her path are revealed to be deeply entwined with the destiny of the universe. Her personal journey to reunite with her soul and recover her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a broader war with an authoritarian system which, as such authorities always have, is striving to suppress independence of thought, innovation and art: all the internal, rebellious ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Ideological Conflicts
The story opens with the unveiling of a collection of unusual openings in the fabric of the world's atmosphere: portals that seem to open into different dimensions. A particular opening appears to be the point of the highly contested mystical extract. The authority, with Delamare at its head, labels these openings as a challenge to the religion's beliefs and aims to eliminate them. As Lyra begins to turn away from rigid logic and return to feeling, yet, her conviction that these locations must be defended – that what they stand for and what they offer is mysteriously essential – strengthens. "Dust, or rose oil, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we label it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a Blakean tussle between innocence and maturity is set.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
