Things are collapsing in the final volume of The Dust Trilogy, the second of the author's magisterial trilogies set in a realm that manifests, in this volume especially, as a charged and tilted version of our own. Establishments are failing, or reassembling themselves along novel and troubling lines. An invisible force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is flowing away from governments, and accumulating in the chambers of theocrats, the coffers of business empires, the grasp of rioters. "An element is at work, stealthily, imperceptibly", says trader a trader character, keeping a watchful eye on the trade routes from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were stable and strong are deteriorating and collapsing."
The Central Mystery and Lyra's Journey
Exactly what that force might be, and how to counteract it, is the inquiry that drives the concluding book, which picks up where its predecessor left off. This is, according to many, the author's concluding excursion into the elaborately built, deeply captivating realm he first unveiled 30 years ago, with the publication of Northern Lights. It's a realm whose landscape corresponds to that of the real world, but whose history diverges and shifts with ours; where the individuals look and think and act like us, but are accompanied by animal souls, souls in animal form; where the air are teeming with sorceresses and legendary creatures, but underneath, transports are taken and beverages is drunk, and older professors carry Harrods shopping bags. The protagonist, whom we first encountered as a child in the His Dark Materials trilogy, and then revisited as a baby in the first volume, the origin story with which the author began this trilogy, is now a mature individual: still recognisably the prickly and determined main character of the previous installments, but more mature, sadder, more cautious, less sure. This limitation is intensified by her separation from her soul companion, her daemon – but it was also, unexpectedly, the catalyst which made him desert her in the first place.
Merging Narratives
Pan's decision to leave in quest of that youthful part of her which she seems to have lost (an trait which he represents as her "imagination"), and her mission to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of the prior book, which followed Lyra undertake a picaresque voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with wonder and risk on the way. But from the beginning, underlying forces were in play, and darker forces at work. The religious council – the faith's ruling body, and the author's brilliantly sinister incarnation of strict, procedural wickedness – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's relative, who faults her for his sibling's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of president of the authority's ruling assembly, and is determined on using his newfound influence to extend the church's dominium. A key character, who carried baby Lyra to refuge along a swollen river as an 11-year-old in the prequel, is now an academic with a additional duty in spycraft: he is dispatched to Geneva to discover more about his intentions. And behind all of this is the enigma surrounding the scarce and valuable essential oil which manifests in some way to be the source of a societal and financial upheaval rippling out from Central Asia. The substance is seen by various factions as a marketable commodity, by different parties as a empirical or esoteric miracle, and by others still – the zealous "men from the mountains" – as a origin of darkness; an affront that must be obliterated. The issue of its source, what it stands for, and whether it should be removed or preserved is coming rapidly to the fore.
Similar to the first series, our protagonist's actions, and her fate, are shown to be inextricably entwined with the future of the world
In The Secret Commonwealth, these storylines ran largely in tandem. In the conclusion, they come together. Like the original series, her movements and her destiny are shown to be inseparably woven with the fate of the universe. Her personal quest to reunite with her companion and recover her vision becomes the primary conflict in a wider war with an oppressive system which, as such authorities often attempt, is seeking to quell freedom of reason, innovation and culture: all the personal, rebellious ways in which humans can be free.
Cosmic Openings and Ideological Conflicts
The book opens with the finding of a series of unusual cracks in the makeup of the planet's air: portals that seem to lead to different dimensions. An example of a window seems to be the point of the much debated rose oil. The Magisterium, with Delamare at its helm, designates these portals as a challenge to the institution's doctrine and endeavors to eliminate them. As our protagonist begins to shift from inflexible logic and revert to feeling, however, her belief that these sites must be protected – that what they stand for and their value is somehow essential – increases. "Dust, or the substance, or the creativity, or the Rose Field, or whatever we label it," she says, "we require it." The scene for a poetic tussle between innocence and maturity is established.
Plot Rhythm and Personal Evolution
At over six hundred pages, The Rose Field|this volume|the
