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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 manifests, now more than ever, as a charged and skewed version of our own. Institutions are failing, or reassembling themselves along unfamiliar and disturbing lines. An unseen force "is destroying the air and the seasons"; simultaneously, "money's going bad, and no one knows why". Power is draining from authorities, and gathering in the chambers of religious leaders, the treasuries of corporations, the grasp of crowds. "Something is at work, silently, imperceptibly", says merchant Mustafa Bey, keeping a observant eye on the ancient paths from his place in an Aleppo cafe. "Aspects we thought were secure and solid are weakening and giving way."

Key Puzzle and Lyra's Journey

Just what that element might be, and methods to fight it, is the inquiry that propels the concluding book, which resumes where The Secret Commonwealth ended. This is, reportedly, Pullman's final venture into the intricately constructed, endlessly enchanting universe he first unveiled three decades past, with the release of the first trilogy. It's a world whose geography aligns with that of our world, but whose past veers and changes with ours; where the people appear and think and act like us, but are paired by external spirits, essences in beast form; where the skies are filled with witches and legendary creatures, but underneath, vehicles are ridden and drinks is consumed, and mature academics carry fancy shopping bags. Our heroine, whom we first introduced to as a child in the first trilogy, and then revisited as a toddler in the first volume, the prequel with which the author began this trilogy, is now a adult: still clearly the prickly and determined protagonist of the prior volumes, but older, sadder, warier, less sure. This limitation is intensified by her split from her daemon, Pan – but it was also, paradoxically, the cause which led him to leave her in the first place.

Merging Narratives

His choice to depart in search of that innocent part of Lyra which she seems to have lost (an trait which he represents as her "imagination"), and her quest to reconnect with him, were the catalysts of its predecessor, which chronicled the protagonist undertake a wandering voyage across the continent and into the mountain region, meeting with amazement and peril on the way. But from the beginning, profound shifts were in motion, and sinister powers at work. The religious council – the religious ruling body, and Pullman's masterfully eerie incarnation of rigid, procedural evil – is under fresh command, and flexing its muscles. Marcel Delamare – the heroine's family member, who blames her for his sister's death – has manoeuvred himself into the office of head of the Magisterium's governing body, and is intent on using his newfound influence to extend the church's rule. Another protagonist, who rescued baby Lyra to refuge along a overflowing Thames as an child in the prequel, is now an university scholar with a secondary role in spycraft: he is dispatched to the city to find out more about Delamare's plans. And behind all of this is the puzzle surrounding the uncommon and precious botanical extract which manifests mysteriously to be the source of a social and financial crisis rippling out from the region. The extract is seen by certain groups as a marketable good, by others as a scientific or esoteric miracle, and by further factions – the fanatical "highland figures" – as a source of malevolence; an challenge that must be obliterated. The dilemma of its source, its meaning, and if it should be eliminated or safeguarded is becoming urgent.

As in the original trilogy, the heroine's deeds, and her destiny, are revealed to be deeply connected with the destiny of the universe

In the previous volume, these storylines ran largely in tandem. In the conclusion, they converge. As in the original series, the protagonist's movements and her path are revealed to be inseparably entwined with the destiny of the world. Her individual journey to rejoin with her soul and recover her creativity becomes the central battleground in a broader conflict with an authoritarian system which, as such regimes typically do, is striving to suppress independence of reason, originality and culture: all the inner, defiant ways in which people can be liberated.

Dimensional Rifts and Philosophical Struggles

The book begins with the unveiling of a collection of curious fissures in the makeup of the Earth's atmosphere: windows that look to lead to different dimensions. A particular window appears to be the point of the much debated rose oil. The Magisterium, with the antagonist at its helm, designates these windows as a problem to the institution's doctrine and aims to eradicate them. As our protagonist begins to turn away from strict reason and back to instinct, yet, her certainty that these places must be protected – that their meaning and what they offer is mysteriously essential – grows. "Dust, or the substance, or the vision, or the field of roses, or whatever we call it," she says, "we need it." The stage for a philosophical conflict between purity and maturity is prepared.

Story Tempo and Protagonist Growth

At a substantial length, The Rose Field|this volume|the