Things are falling apart in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the second of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a realm that seems, now more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reassembling themselves along new and disturbing lines. An hidden force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; concurrently, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Authority is shifting from states, and accumulating in the offices of theocrats, the coffers of corporations, the grasp of rioters. "An element is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says trader Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the trade routes from his post in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and durable are weakening and failing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Precisely what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that propels the concluding book, which resumes where the previous book ended. This is, according to many, Pullman's last foray into the intricately constructed, infinitely beguiling realm he first introduced in the distant past, with the release of Northern Lights. It's a world whose landscape maps on to that of the real world, but whose chronicles diverges and shifts with ours; where the people look and think and behave like us, but are paired by animal souls, essences in creature form; where the heavens are populated with enchantresses and legendary creatures, but below, buses are ridden and drinks is consumed, and middle-aged academics carry luxury shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then met once more as a baby in the first volume, the introductory book with which Pullman began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still clearly the sharp and tenacious heroine of the earlier books, but older, more sorrowful, more cautious, less certain. This circumscription is heightened by her split from her daemon, her daemon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the cause which made him desert her in the first place.
Converging Storylines
Pan's decision to go off in quest of that childlike part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an quality which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her quest to reunite with him, were the incitements of The Secret Commonwealth, which followed the protagonist undertake a wandering journey across Europe and into the mountain region, facing with amazement and danger on the way. But from the outset, deeper currents were in action, and darker forces at work. The Magisterium – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of rigid, bureaucratic malice – is under recent guidance, and showing its strength. The antagonist – Lyra's uncle, who holds responsible her for his family member's death – has positioned himself into the role of president of the Magisterium's High Council, and is determined on using his fresh authority to broaden the institution's control. Another protagonist, who rescued infant the heroine to safety along a flooded Thames as an young boy in the first book, is now an academic with a additional duty in intelligence work: he is dispatched to a key location to learn more about the antagonist's plans. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and precious rose oil which seems mysteriously to be the origin of a societal and financial disturbance rippling out from that area. The oil is viewed by various factions as a tradeable commodity, by alternate groups as a empirical or spiritual wonder, and by others still – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a origin of darkness; an challenge that must be eradicated. The question of its origins, its meaning, and if it should be destroyed or preserved is becoming urgent.
Similar to the original trilogy, Lyra's decisions, and her fate, are demonstrated to be inextricably linked with the destiny of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran mostly in tandem. In The Rose Field, they merge. Similar to His Dark Materials, Lyra's choices and her path are unveiled to be inseparably entwined with the destiny of the universe. Her individual quest to reconnect with her daemon and rediscover her creativity becomes the central struggle in a wider battle with an oppressive system which, as such regimes always have, is striving to quell freedom of reason, creativity and art: all the personal, defiant ways in which humans can be independent.
Cosmic Openings and Moral Battles
The book starts with the finding of a series of unusual cracks in the fabric of the planet's sky: portals that seem to open into different dimensions. One such window appears to be the point of the highly contested mystical extract. The Magisterium, with its leader at its leadership, classifies these windows as a threat to the institution's beliefs and endeavors to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to move from rigid rationalism and return to instinct, yet, her conviction that these sites must be defended – that what they stand for and their value is in some way crucial – strengthens. "The substance, or rose oil, or the creativity, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The setting for a philosophical struggle between naivety and knowledge is prepared.
Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
