Things are unraveling in the last installment of The Dust Trilogy, the next of Philip Pullman's grand trilogies set in a universe that appears, now more than ever, as a charged and slanted version of our own. Establishments are weakening, or reorganizing themselves along new and troubling lines. An invisible force "is wrecking the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "wealth is decaying, and no one knows why". Control is flowing away from authorities, and accumulating in the halls of religious leaders, the coffers of business empires, the grasp of rioters. "An element is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says trader a merchant figure, keeping a watchful eye on the ancient paths from his seat in an city cafe. "Things we thought were firm and durable are weakening and giving way."
Key Puzzle and The Protagonist's Path
Precisely what that element might be, and how to counteract it, is the question that drives the concluding book, which picks up where its predecessor left off. This is, reportedly, Pullman's concluding venture into the elaborately built, infinitely beguiling universe he first unveiled three decades past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a world whose landscape maps on to that of our world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the people appear and reason and act like us, but are joined by daemons, beings in animal form; where the skies are filled with enchantresses and mythical beasts, but below, buses are ridden and drinks is drunk, and older scholars carry Harrods shopping bags. Lyra, whom we first encountered as a young girl in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the prequel, the origin story with which the author began this trilogy, is now a young woman: still recognisably the prickly and determined main character of the previous installments, but older, sadder, more careful, less sure. This circumscription is intensified by her separation from her animal guide, Pantalaimon – but it was also, ironically, the trigger which led him to leave her in the first place.
Interwoven Plots
Pan's decision to depart in search of that childlike part of Lyra which she appears to have shed (an quality which he epitomises as her "vision"), and her journey to reunite with him, were the incitements of the prior book, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a adventurous voyage across the continent and into the Caucasus, facing with marvel and danger on the way. But from the start, deeper currents were in play, and malevolent elements at work. The religious council – the church's controlling power, and Pullman's deliciously chilling incarnation of austere, administrative wickedness – is under recent guidance, and flexing its muscles. Lyra's uncle – our protagonist's relative, who blames her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of president of the authority's governing body, and is set on using his newfound power to expand the religion's control. Another protagonist, who saved baby Lyra to safety along a overflowing river as an 11-year-old in the first book, is now an Oxford don with a secondary role in spycraft: he is sent to Geneva to discover more about the antagonist's plans. And behind all of this is the mystery surrounding the scarce and precious essential oil which seems in some way to be the source of a social and economic crisis spreading out from that area. The oil is viewed by certain groups as a marketable commodity, by others as a research-based or esoteric wonder, and by yet others – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a wellspring of evil; an challenge that must be destroyed. The issue of where it comes from, its meaning, and if it should be destroyed or safeguarded is becoming urgent.
Like the first series, Lyra's decisions, and her destiny, are shown to be inextricably linked with the fate of the universe
In The Secret Commonwealth, these plots ran largely in side by side. In the conclusion, they merge. As in His Dark Materials, her choices and her path are revealed to be inextricably entwined with the fate of the world. Her individual quest to reconnect with her daemon and recover her vision becomes the primary conflict in a wider conflict with an oppressive system which, as these systems often attempt, is seeking to stifle independence of thought, originality and expression: all the personal, defiant ways in which humans can be liberated.
Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles
The book starts with the finding of a collection of strange cracks in the makeup of the Earth's atmosphere: gateways that appear to lead to other worlds. An example of a window seems to be the origin of the much debated mystical extract. The church, with Delamare at its leadership, designates these openings as a threat to the church's beliefs and endeavors to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from inflexible reason and return to instinct, yet, her belief that these places must be protected – that what they stand for and their value is somehow vital – grows. "Cosmic particles, or the extract, or the vision, or the botanical realm, or whatever we call it," she says, "we require it." The setting for a Blakean conflict between naivety and knowledge is prepared.
Plot Rhythm and Character Development
At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the
