Things are falling apart in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the second of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a universe that appears, here more than ever, as a energized and skewed version of our own. Organizations are failing, or restructuring themselves along new and troubling lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from authorities, and pooling in the chambers of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the hands of mobs. "An element is at work, stealthily, very subtly", says trader a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the trade routes from his post in an Aleppo cafe. "Things we thought were secure and strong are weakening and collapsing."
Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that force might be, and methods to fight it, is the question that animates the concluding book, which picks up where its predecessor left off. This is, by all accounts, the author's concluding venture into the carefully crafted, endlessly enchanting universe he first introduced 30 years ago, with the release of His Dark Materials. It's a domain whose geography corresponds to that of the real world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the humans appear and think and act like us, but are joined by external spirits, souls in animal form; where the air are populated with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but beneath those skies, transports are ridden and beverages is consumed, and mature academics carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a 12-year-old in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in La Belle Sauvage, the introductory book with which the author began the series, is now a adult: still clearly the spiky and determined heroine of the previous installments, but more mature, more sorrowful, more cautious, less sure. This circumscription is intensified by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
His choice to go off in pursuit of that youthful part of her which she seems to have lost (an quality which he symbolizes as her "vision"), and her mission to reunite with him, were the incitements of its predecessor, which chronicled Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the Caucasus, facing with wonder and peril on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in motion, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the religious ruling body, and the author's deliciously chilling embodiment of austere, bureaucratic evil – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – our protagonist's uncle, who faults her for his sister's death – has worked himself into the position of leader of the church's governing body, and is set on using his fresh influence to extend the institution's rule. A key character, who rescued young the heroine to refuge along a swollen Thames as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a sideline in spycraft: he is assigned to a key location to learn more about the antagonist's aims. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the uncommon and precious rose oil which manifests somehow to be the source of a social and financial crisis emanating out from Central Asia. The substance is seen by certain groups as a marketable commodity, by alternate groups as a scientific or spiritual miracle, and by further factions – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a source of evil; an insult that must be obliterated. The dilemma of where it comes from, its significance, and if it should be destroyed or protected is coming rapidly to the fore.
As in the original trilogy, the heroine's actions, and her future, are shown to be deeply connected with the destiny of the universe
In the previous volume, these narratives ran mostly in parallel. In this final book, they come together. Similar to the original series, Lyra's choices and her path are unveiled to be deeply woven with the destiny of the realm. Her private quest to reunite with her soul and rediscover her creativity becomes the central conflict in a larger war with an authoritarian system which, as such regimes always have, is seeking to quell freedom of thinking, innovation and culture: all the inner, defiant ways in which individuals can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The novel opens with the finding of a set of unusual openings in the makeup of the Earth's sky: portals that appear to lead to alternate realities. A particular opening seems to be the point of the highly contested rose oil. The church, with Delamare at its head, classifies these openings as a problem to the church's doctrine and endeavors to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from inflexible logic and revert to instinct, however, her conviction that these locations must be defended – that their significance and what they provide is in some way vital – grows. "Cosmic particles, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the Rose Field, or no matter what we call it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a Blakean tussle between purity and knowledge is established.
Narrative Pacing and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
