Title: Dune
Author: Frank Herbert
Date of Publication: June 1, 1965
Company: Hodder and Stoughton
Number of Pages: 604
Awards: Hugo Award for Best Novel (1966), Nebula Award for Best Novel (1965), Seiun Award for Best Foreign Novel (1974)
I'm not sure how I, as a lover of science fiction and fantasy, arrived in my mid-thirties without having read Frank Herbert's Dune. Yes, I'm one of those people. If a book contains original maps, an important prop that happens to be a sword, or a locale with more than one moon, you can color me interested.
The first thing that struck me about this story was the timelessness of Herbert's voice. The narration is so clean that I was unable to detect any popular language to connote the inceptive time period. It could have been written in the '30's, or even this year. Some other writers that have made me feel this way are Robin Hobb, Connie Willis, Orson Scott Card, and Ayn Rand. Just—timeless. And also, lyrical? And unique. I get why this universe has become an institution.
And here also, as with the Ender series and the Fitz and the Fool series, we encounter the stock young man, a quintessential hero with untold potential. I need to point out though, that Ender, Fitz, and Dune's Paul aren't just leading man material; they are prodigies without awareness—uncanny in their intuition and understanding of humankind, well-equipped, and absolutely destined for greatness. When reading stories of this ilk, I am generally a tiny bit irritated, because of course Paul already knows how to use all of the foreign equipment he encounters. Of course he can tell if someone around him is lying. But in all cases, these characters themselves are so engaging that I agree to play along, completely invested in spite of myself. Of course, Paul Atreides is something of an aberration, having been trained exhaustively by those around him from a young age. He is more than a prodigy. He is a prophet-warrior destined for power.
Dune has been touted as a Sci-fi classic, and for quite a while, I couldn't ascertain why. Though the universe of the book is certainly advanced enough, most of the action takes place on land versus space. It's difficult to tell if the story occurs in a parallel past or a faraway future. There is evidence of planetary travel, certainly, and I originally thought that might be enough to clinch it. It wasn't until Leto, Kynes, Paul and the warrior Halleck embark on a jaunt through the dessert of Arrakis that Herbert's genius hit home for me.
The group is in a trawler of sorts, traveling over blistering sands. They can view the locale's mining operations from their vantage point, as well as identify dangers both potential and real; the infamous Worms, giant beasts that burrow in the desert. The miners, security detail, and anyone else happening to travel that day start radioing to each other about aberrations on the map, and relative location, and I was entranced. This is a space opera, I realized. But the action has been taken from the sky and is playing out in the sand.
The culture borrows heavily from ancient Greek history and mythos, especially concerning the names of the characters. Leto and Paul Atreides, for example, bear a surname that would generally denote them descendants of the Greek mythical figure Atreus, the King of Mycenae in Peloponnese.
The book takes itself seriously for sure. Herbert's story is rich with political intrigue. The inclusion, also, of quotes from Princess Iralan's future published works give Dune a slightly pompous feel. The world-building is palpable, replete with family trees and royal lineage and duels to the death. But an interesting phenomenon occurs when a deadly-serious high fantasy epic is loosed on the world; everyone else takes it seriously, too.
You might even get into fights with people who insist this is the greatest fantasy story of all time. I have found that those who love it stand staunchly by it.
I'll admit that I was annoyed at the time skips that take place in the story—often with no warning. A few months here, a few years there... and I kept thinking to myself, but I wanted to see that rather than hear about it in third person months later! These instances feel like missed opportunities.
The big villain of the piece is clearly the Baron Harkonnen. He's flawed and interesting, I suppose, but is barely able to graduate from twisting his mustache and rubbing his palms together. I dislike villains who aren't smart.
And speaking of dislike, I've got to add that Dune contains one of the characters I dislike most in all of my experience with literature; the Lady Jessica, the Bene Gesserit.
The protagonist's mother Jessica is covered in the story as one of the heroes. And she certainly undergoes change and challenges, and adapts beautifully and often painfully. She loves her partner, the Duke Leto Atreides, fiercely. She is intelligent. She is attractive. And I absolutely cannot stand her. Jessica raised her son Paul in the Bene Gesserit way from his infancy, which in its way is a loving act. But it can also been seen as manipulative, as Paul and eventually Jessica herself come to see. In addition to this, Jessica is strangely possessive of Paul, and suspicious and jealous of other women who cross his path. And finally, there's this gem from Page 312:
The troop grew still, listening as Paul's voice lifted in a sweet boy tenor with the baliset tinkling and strumming beneath it.
This clear time of seeing embers—
A gold-bright sun's lost in first dusk.
What frenzied senses, desp'rate musk
Are consort of rememb'ring.
Jessica felt the verbal music in her breast—pagan and charged with sounds that made her suddenly and intensely aware of herself, feeling her own body and its needs. She listened with tense stillness.
Night's pearl-censered requi-em...
'Tis for us!
What joys run then—
Bright in your eyes—
What flower-spangled amores
Pull at our hearts... What flower-spangled amores
Fill our desires
And Jessica heard the after-stillness that hummed in the air with the last note. Why does my son sing a love-song to that girl-child? she asked herself. She felt an abrupt fear. She could sense life flowing around her and she had no grasp on its reins. Why did he choose that song? she wondered. The instincts are true sometimes. Why did he do this?
Right. We can all see the strange way Jessica feels threatened by a young girl living among the Fremen—this particular young girl is significant, by the way—but did you catch that other thing? That thing of the Lady Jessica becoming sexually aroused while listening to her son sing?
Perhaps it is Herbert's intention to make the reader dislike Jessica. I won't know until I get farther into the universe of the story. But I'll tell you what; in Dune as in real life, strange, Oedipal mother-son relationships seem to pop up just when you think life is bearable again. Bring me the big knife, Chrissy.
via GIPHY
Finally, the ending note of Dune is satisfactory story structure-wise, and very technically proficient. But it's also a tease. The end is very clearly a beginning, a prelude to many more stories. I knew there were a lot more Dune books in the universe, but wasn't sure how many. I Googled it and found this:
So, um—there's nineteen, I guess. If you're thinking about starting Dune, make sure to allow yourself plenty of time to process it. I can highly recommend the Audible recording with Scott Brick and including countless other fantastic voice actors. It's long, with heady exposition, and the complexity can make your eyes glaze over a bit.
Stick with it, though. This is an important story for Sci-fi and Fantasy lovers.
The topics of the essays vary. I came to find out that many of them were written for submission to different magazines, especially Oprah Winfrey's publication O. They fit together nicely, though.
