Tings are collapsing in the concluding book of The Dust Trilogy, the next of the author's grand trilogies set in a world that appears, in this volume especially, as a intense and tilted version of our own. Organizations are crumbling, or restructuring themselves along unfamiliar and disquieting lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; at the same time, "currency is failing, and no one knows why". Authority is draining from authorities, and accumulating in the halls of theocrats, the treasuries of conglomerates, the hands of rioters. "An element is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says businessman a trader character, keeping a vigilant eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and solid are deteriorating and failing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Just what that force might be, and ways to oppose it, is the mystery that propels the concluding book, which resumes where its predecessor ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final foray into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling world he first unveiled in the distant past, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a world whose geography corresponds to that of this world, but whose past tacks and jibes with ours; where the humans appear and reason and act like us, but are paired by animal souls, souls in creature form; where the heavens are populated with witches and legendary creatures, but below, transports are ridden and beverages is drunk, and mature scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first encountered as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began The Book of Dust, is now a young woman: still recognisably the prickly and determined heroine of the prior volumes, but aged, sadder, more cautious, less sure. This circumscription is intensified by her division from her animal guide, her daemon – but it was also, paradoxically, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to leave in quest of that childlike part of the heroine which she seems to have lost (an aspect which he represents as her "imagination"), and her journey to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which saw Lyra undertake a adventurous voyage across Europe and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and risk on the way. But from the beginning, deeper currents were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The church authority – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of rigid, bureaucratic malice – is under new leadership, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has manoeuvred himself into the role of head of the authority's High Council, and is determined on using his newfound influence to extend the church's dominium. A key character, who carried young the heroine to security along a swollen river as an young boy in the first book, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in intelligence work: he is dispatched to Geneva to learn more about the antagonist's plans. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and costly botanical extract which manifests mysteriously to be the source of a societal and financial crisis spreading out from that area. The extract is seen by some as a tradeable product, by others as a empirical or mystical phenomenon, and by further factions – the zealous "highland figures" – as a source of darkness; an challenge that must be destroyed. The question of its origins, its significance, and if it should be destroyed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Similar to His Dark Materials, our protagonist's deeds, and her destiny, are demonstrated to be inextricably entwined with the destiny of the universe
In the previous volume, these narratives ran mostly in parallel. In the conclusion, they merge. Similar to the original series, her choices and her fate are shown to be inextricably woven with the fate of the world. Her individual journey to reunite with her soul and rediscover her creativity becomes the primary conflict in a broader war with an oppressive system which, as these systems typically do, is attempting to quell freedom of thought, creativity and culture: all the internal, defiant ways in which people can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Philosophical Struggles
The book starts with the unveiling of a set of strange fissures in the fabric of the Earth's sky: gateways that look to give on to alternate realities. A particular window appears to be the source of the much debated rose oil. The Magisterium, with its leader at its helm, designates these openings as a threat to the church's orthodoxy and sets out to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to move from inflexible rationalism and revert to intuition, yet, her belief that these locations must be defended – that what they stand for and their value is in some way crucial – strengthens. "Dust, or the substance, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or no matter what we call it," she says, "it is necessary." The scene for a Blakean struggle between innocence and maturity is prepared.
Story Tempo and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
