Book Review: Dune - The Saga

What a strange and enthralling series.

I first read Dune in college. It was one of the few books I read for pleasure during that time, and shortly after finishing it I went out and bought its two immediate squeals: Dune: Messiah and Children of Dune. I didn't open them then, but they lived among my collection for the intervening decade until, inspired by Denis Villeneuve's recent adaptions of the original book, my interest in the series was reignited. Dune: Part 2 in particular reminded my of how compelling the mythology of Dune can be, and upon seeing the trailer for Part 3 (which will be an adaption of Messiah), I realized that I wanted to go into it knowing what was in the original novel, much as I had gone into Parts 1 and 2.

There are some works that must be enjoyed blind, whose mastery of twists and turns and the pulling back of the curtain is to be lauded and respected, where spoilers would indeed spoil the experience. But some are the opposite: knowing where a story leads does not lessen its impact, and it may even heighten it. My favorite movies are those that compel me each time I watch them, my favorite books are those I can talk about endlessly and know that anyone I describe them to would still be able to read them as if they had fresh eyes. Taken to an extreme, that feeling is what I would call religious. Mad Max: Fury Road is like this to me, endlessly rewatchable; I am enraptured by the pure momentum in that movie. The manga Blame! drives me all the way through it every time I pick it up just to skim. There is a feeling of... inevitability in these works that is compelling; the story will happen the same as it always has, but it is the artistry and craftsmanship that I am awed by each time. Villeneuve, much as he did with Blade Runner 2049, captures that feeling of inevitability in his Dune movies, but that original magnetic drive started with Frank Herbert's book, and in reading his whole saga I now understand how it enraptured culture back in 1965, and why we as a culture feel compelled to return to Arrakis. Why we watch, rapt, at the tragic inevitability of Paul's journey.

Herbert has a way of writing that is immediately capturing. The plots of these books are, in general, not actually that complicated nor in and of themselves compelling. Paul is set up to become the kwisatz haderach and emperor of the universe and then he does. He sees the future and then it happens. But plot is not the draw of the writing -- what Frank Herbert is so good at doing is exploring character. Again and again he delves deep into the minds of his characters, painting elegant pictures of the inner consternation they encounter. The rage of fear of Leto Atreides, Paul's father, still sometimes rings through my head though I only ever read the book once: "They have tried to take the life of my son!" Emotions run high and low, drama is infused in each scene, and throughout it all he constructs the mythology of strange, brutal universe.

Mythology really is what these books have. Dune, the planet, is so fully realized--the fremen, the spice melange, the worms, and all the human factions that vie for power and control--the details that build Dune's world reach out and compel me to worship too. There is no advance computer technology. No one controls the worms, and the whole human universe is dependent on their byproduct: the spice melange. The desert planet Arrakis (Dune) is a brutal desert, water precious beyond measure. Civilization is still organized in a feudal system. All these facts lead to a setting where, though advanced enough to populate the universe, humanity is subject still to so much of the natural and physical world. The feelings of awe that lie in the characters infected me as the reader. I too worship Shai Hulud, and feel pull of the desert sands. You can ride the worm, but it can at any time destroy you. Paul becomes a messiah, but has no control over his own religion. He is powerless to stop jihad. To live in this world is to navigate overwhelming powers, be humbled by them, and know that, at most, you are holding the reigns for a while until you are swallowed and returned back to nothing.

This is world building that lies in great contrast to most modern science fiction, or at least the vast majority of what I have read. Sci-fi often implies a technological mastery, the universe cracked open after a threshold of progress is met. Planets are wilderness until metropolized; automata replace labor; everyone has blasters and personal starships. even in 'hard' sci-fi, technology reigns supreme. The Martian is an exercise in pushing the limits of real technologies; stories like Interstellar and Contact are thought experiments focused on singular scientific hypotheticals, made real by fictional advances in technology. Dune has none of that. Instead, its advancements are biological, human or inhuman, and very very strange.

Part of what compelled me is how different Dune feels, for all the reasons stated in the above paragraph. I haven't read anything else like it. Spice, a drug, is the main source of power in this universe; genetic breeding programs carried out through centuries produce true oracles, or soldiers with enhanced reflexes; further breeding creates genes that are immune to future visions; memories are stored in the genes, and unlocking them gives Bene Geserit access to the experiences of their ancestors; mental training allows the brain to compute like silicone, working around the restrictions on technology; vocal cords can be trained to speak in ways that compel, a kind of mind control; sexual prowess can be enhanced so as to addict victims and compel obedience; Paul's son becomes a giant worm-man hybrid; Duncan Idaho gets revived as a clone hundreds of times over the course of thousands of years throughout this series. He's the only character that is in all six books.

It's weird, it's bizarre, and it's downright silly at points but somehow it all works. Frank Herbert paints such a strong picture of this universe that it all feels coherent. His characters navigate this strange, escalating reality and we follow along, pulled by their struggles and wondering along with them where this is all leading to; how will humanity be changed by each calamity that strikes out from the planet Arrakis?

I must say, however, that many parts of these books are showing their age. I wasn't keeping a list but there are some rough patches in the writing, and it takes Frank about three to four books to write women as full and consistant as men (though interestingly by Heretics of Dune most of the main characters are women, and in Chapterhouse: Dune there are only three or four named men at all). The sexual politics are so rigidly written it loops back around into being an kind of fantasy world building choice. What if sex were a true binary and each sex had separate powers? I think it helps that Herbert still gets weird with it in an interesting way. This is nothing like Stranger in a Strange Land's abysmal voyeurism and gross homophobia. My only consistent critique is that Herbert's villains are the weakest point of his writing, more flat obstacle or accumulation of gross details (Baron Harkonnen) than a realized antagonist.

I am very happy that I went back and read the rest of these books. I truly did not know what to expect going in, but what I found was such a wonderful journey. Frank Herbert died about a year after publishing Chapterhouse: Dune, a book that ends on nothing but hanging threads and leaves our character suspended in open space, with no plan but to seek what is out there in an open, mysterious universe. I am sad that more of Frank's original vision did not make it onto the page, but I am so glad I got as much of Dune as we have. These books are truly classics, and if you're ever tired of the common tropes or the repetitive hues of Star Wars and Star Trek that permeate so much of modern sci-fi, they will feel still fresh and exciting all the way though.