Things are collapsing in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a realm that manifests, in this volume especially, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Establishments are failing, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Control is draining from states, and gathering in the halls of religious leaders, the treasuries of conglomerates, the hands of mobs. "Something is at work, very quietly, imperceptibly", says merchant a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his seat in an city cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and durable are weakening and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and The Protagonist's Path
Exactly what that something might be, and methods to fight it, is the mystery that drives the concluding book, which continues where The Secret Commonwealth left off. This is, according to many, Pullman's last venture into the carefully crafted, infinitely beguiling world he first unveiled three decades past, with the launch of His Dark Materials. It's a realm whose landscape maps on to that of our world, but whose past diverges and shifts with ours; where the people look and think and behave like us, but are paired by animal souls, essences in animal form; where the skies are filled with sorceresses and mythical beasts, but underneath, transports are ridden and tea is sipped, and older scholars carry luxury shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a toddler in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began the series, is now a mature individual: still clearly the spiky and persistent heroine of the previous installments, but aged, more sorrowful, more cautious, less certain. This circumscription is intensified by her division from her daemon, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the cause which caused him to abandon her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
His choice to go off in search of that innocent part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an trait which he symbolizes as her "creativity"), and her quest to rejoin with him, were the driving forces of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous trek across the continent and into the mountain region, encountering with amazement and danger on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in action, and malevolent elements at work. The Magisterium – the faith's controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling representation of austere, bureaucratic wickedness – is under fresh command, and showing its strength. Lyra's uncle – the heroine's family member, who faults her for his family member's death – has worked himself into the office of president of the authority's High Council, and is intent on using his newfound influence to extend the institution's rule. A key character, who carried baby Lyra to refuge along a overflowing river as an child in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a additional duty in espionage: he is assigned to the city to discover more about his aims. And beneath all of this is the puzzle surrounding the rare and precious rose oil which appears in some way to be the cause of a social and economic disturbance spreading out from the region. The oil is seen by various factions as a tradeable product, by alternate groups as a scientific or esoteric miracle, and by further factions – the extremist "men from the mountains" – as a origin of evil; an challenge that must be eradicated. The issue of its source, its significance, and if it should be removed or safeguarded is escalating in importance.
Like the original trilogy, Lyra's decisions, and her fate, are demonstrated to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the world
In its predecessor, these plots ran mostly in parallel. In The Rose Field, they converge. Similar to the first trilogy, Lyra's actions and her fate are revealed to be deeply woven with the future of the world. Her personal mission to reconnect with her companion and rediscover her creativity becomes the primary struggle in a broader conflict with an authoritarian regime which, as such authorities often attempt, is seeking to quell freedom of thinking, creativity and culture: all the internal, defiant ways in which humans can be liberated.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The story begins with the unveiling of a collection of strange fissures in the structure of the planet's sky: windows that appear to open into different dimensions. One such opening manifests to be the origin of the fiercely disputed botanical substance. The church, with Delamare at its head, labels these windows as a problem to the religion's orthodoxy and sets out to destroy them. As Lyra begins to move from rigid rationalism and revert to instinct, nevertheless, her certainty that these places must be defended – that what they stand for and what they provide is mysteriously crucial – strengthens. "The substance, or rose oil, or the imagination, or the botanical realm, or whatever we label it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a Blakean struggle between purity and maturity is prepared.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
