Things 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 tilted version of our own. Establishments are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along new and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Control is draining from authorities, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the coffers of conglomerates, the grasp of rioters. "Some force is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Elements we thought were stable and strong are faltering and collapsing."
Core Enigma and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that element might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that propels this final volume, which resumes where its predecessor left off. This is, by all accounts, the author's final venture into the elaborately built, deeply captivating realm he first introduced 30 years ago, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a domain whose landscape corresponds to that of our world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the people appear and reason and behave like us, but are accompanied by daemons, essences in creature form; where the skies are populated with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but beneath those skies, buses are taken and drinks is consumed, and mature academics carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the original trilogy, and then saw again as a infant in the prequel, the introductory book with which the author began the series, is now a young woman: still recognisably the prickly and persistent main character of the prior volumes, but older, melancholic, more careful, less certain. This limitation is intensified 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 childlike part of the heroine which she appears to have shed (an aspect which he represents as her "creativity"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering trek across Europe and into the Caucasus, encountering with marvel and danger on the way. But from the start, profound shifts were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the religious governing authority, and the author's deliciously chilling representation of austere, procedural wickedness – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. The antagonist – Lyra's uncle, who blames her for his sister's death – has positioned himself into the position of president of the Magisterium's High Council, and is determined on using his recently acquired influence to broaden the religion's control. A key character, who rescued baby Lyra to refuge along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in La Belle Sauvage, is now an academic with a additional duty in espionage: he is sent to Geneva to discover more about his intentions. And beneath all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and costly botanical extract which seems mysteriously to be the cause of a social and economic crisis spreading out from the region. The oil is viewed by various factions as a tradeable good, by others as a scientific or mystical miracle, and by yet others – the fanatical "men from the mountains" – as a origin of malevolence; an insult that must be eradicated. The issue of its source, its significance, and if it should be destroyed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
As in the original trilogy, the heroine's decisions, and her future, are revealed to be deeply entwined with the future of the world
In its predecessor, these storylines ran mostly in parallel. In The Rose Field, they merge. As in the first trilogy, the protagonist's movements and her path are shown to be inseparably linked with the future of the world. Her personal journey to reunite with her soul and rediscover her vision becomes the primary conflict in a wider war with an oppressive government which, as such authorities always have, is attempting to quell independence of thought, originality and culture: all the internal, resistant ways in which individuals can be liberated.
Atmospheric Fissures and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the finding of a series of curious openings in the fabric of the Earth's air: portals that appear to give on to alternate realities. A particular portal appears to be the origin of the much debated mystical extract. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its leadership, classifies these windows as a problem to the religion's orthodoxy and endeavors to eradicate them. As the heroine begins to turn away from rigid reason and back to instinct, yet, her belief that these locations must be protected – that their significance and what they offer is in some way crucial – strengthens. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the creativity, or the botanical realm, or no matter what we name it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a Blakean tussle between naivety and experience is set.
Narrative Pacing and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
