On a crowded street corner, a stranger could whisper to me; Dune, Arrakis, spice and we would be two in a sisterhood of millions. “For those who understand, no explanation is needed. For those who do not understand, no explanation is possible.” While undergoing surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation during a bout of breast cancer, these were the words that kept my body motionless and my fears in check; “I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone, there will be nothing. Only I will remain.” I first read Dune in university in the early 1970s and didn’t read it again until I saw the movie Dune: Part II and wondered if the book could be as wonderful as I thought it to have been in those university years more than 50 years ago. It was, and more. ( )

A classic, without doubt. ( )

It has taken me so long to get round to reading ‘Dune’ thanks to an ill-judged recommendation. During my teenage classic sci-fi phase, one of my cousins rhapsodised about ‘Dune’, then lent me three brick sized prequels. “They’re not as good,” he said, “but you should read them first.” I was not convinced and demurred. Now that I’ve read ‘Dune’ itself, I definitely stand by my past self’s decision. While ‘Dune’ was undoubtedly worth reading, it has some significant flaws. Broadly speaking, its strength is the intricate world-building and its weakness is the incredibly clunky dialogue. The plotting tends towards strength and the characterisation tends towards weakness. It took me a while to get into, because the narrative is constantly more interested in the big picture than individual characters. The main character is undoubtedly the planet itself, which is evoked vividly and with impressive attention to detail. Paul the main human character is far less interesting, due to his tiresome infallibility. I found his mother Jessica more compelling when given the point of view. No character other than those two got enough attention to develop a personality as such. I think the density of world-building was partially to blame for this. In a world dominated by intricate rituals, the scope for individuality appeared limited.

This is not to say that I didn’t very much enjoy learning about the culture of Dune. Key to it, in my opinion, is the fact that the whole population is constantly high as balls on spice, an addictive drug with peculiar properties. The narrative explains carefully how the desert dwellers have adapted to conserving every tiny drop of water with ‘stillsuits’ and religious rituals, however it’s worth pointing out that they’re all in a slightly altered state as well. I did wonder whether it was possible to overdose on spice. It’s so addictive that giving it up is apparently impossible, yet you can build up a tolerance, so the possibility of overdose seems very likely. I guess that would take the form of an out-of-body experience than never ended? Anyway, I especially appreciated the combination of whimsy and disaster capitalism that played out on this spice-addled planet. The feudalistic system of barons and slaves was grounded in commodity exploitation for profit. Herbert’s writing has a streak of what could be considered Marxism: culture and religion are actively manipulated by the ruling class to reinforce their control of the means of production. Yet there is no proletariat and the desert peasantry of Dune only rise up in rebellion when led by another aristocrat. Nonetheless, it always made clear that the conflict is over profit rather than any principle, excepting revenge. What makes Paul better than Baron Harkonnen, really? Will Paul dismantle the empire’s system of slavery and exploitation? It doesn’t look like it. He certainly has an epic sense of entitlement, reinforced by his magical powers.

Likewise, the Bene Gesserit’s unsettling eugenics experiments to breed a messiah thankfully involve mixing up the gene pool rather than ideas of racial purity, but still limit themselves to the aristocratic caste. There’s a certain amount of Foucault’s biopower ideas in the cultural perceptions of bodies in conditions of extreme water shortage. The appendices at the end of the book include plenty of additional material about the religious and ecological details underpinning ‘Dune’, which presumably resisted being rammed into the narrative somewhere. Herbert’s cynicism about religion seems quite of its time, the 1960s, and still resonates today. The ecological ideas, meanwhile, read to me as ahead of their time. The decentralised, crowd-sourced (to use an awkward current term) terraforming reminded me of Kim Stanley Robinson’s [b:Mars Trilogy|1655299|Mars Trilogy|Kim Stanley Robinson|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1456997462s/1655299.jpg|1649931]. The keen environmental awareness of the Fremen was a particularly effective element of their culture. I was less convinced by the prevalence of knife fights. While the idea of clear cultural limits to contain collateral damage from conflict, such as the agreement never to use nuclear weapons against people, made sense, the lack of guns was puzzling. During the fights between Fremen and Sardaukar, I was never quite clear on what weapons were in use. They seemed to have heavy ranged guns, so why not rifles of some sort? On other planets, personal shields would make those useless, but shields couldn’t be used on Dune because of sandworms. This kind of curiosity about little details does demonstrate my level of involvement, not so much in the plot as in life on the planet Dune.

I remain a little confused as to what the Bene Gesserit wanted a messiah for exactly - presumably this is fodder for the next book? Messiahs usually have some sort of grand task. Disappointingly, the depiction of the degeneracy of the Harkonnens was grounded in tired tropes: Baron Harkonnen is gay and obese. The gender roles are also rather dated, despite Jessica’s undoubted depth and agency. The Fremen treat women as possessions, while Princess Irulan offers an omniscient third person perspective. I read a 50th anniversary edition, though, so expected as much. In fact, the female characters were more nuanced than I dared to hope.

I’ve been advised by several people that ‘Dune’ is the highlight of the series and to be wary of the other books. Although I enjoyed exploring the economy, culture, ecology, and society of the planet, I never got used to the awkward dialogue. Paul was not interesting enough for me to want another book about his subsequent exploits. Nevertheless, I’m glad I read this and can see why it has become a sci-fi classic. I can also see why film or TV adaptations have always run into trouble. It simply didn’t seem cinematic to me. The most appropriate film version, to my mind, would be a mock anthropological/historical documentary hosted by Princess Irulan. This would include tours of Arrakeen and a Sietch, interviews with Jessica and Alia, footage of sandworms, and a scientific explanation of spice’s effects. I’d watch that. ( )

Sort of ahead of the game with the psychedelic stuff, but a little too teenager-ish for me. Probably great reading if you are a 14 year old, though. ( )

Sort of ahead of the game with the psychedelic stuff, but a little too teenager-ish for me. Probably great reading if you are a 14 year old, though. ( )