Dune (1965) is a timeless classic

Hello readers! I finally got around to reading Frank Herbert’s Dune. Not sure why it took me so long, as I’ve been curious about the book for as long as I can remember. It is so well-known, so well-loved, and so well-integrated into the public imagination that most of us have felt its influence, either through books or films or video games. Dune is to science fiction what The Lord of the Rings is to fantasy: it has provided so much inspiration for other works that it has become a sacred, foundational text. At this point, it almost goes without saying that any science fiction fan will eventually read Dune. And I suspect that this legendary aura might have been what put me off for so long.

So, if you’re a science fiction fan – maybe more of a casual reader, less into the “hard science” side of the genre – you might be in the same position that I was, wondering if Dune is worth reading. Perhaps you have seen the recent film adaptations (or the 1984 David Lynch adaptation, or the recent survival game), and you’re considering picking up the book, wondering if it has more to offer. My recommendation, in brief, is yes – give it a read! But I will spend today’s post breaking that answer down in more detail, as Dune probably isn’t for everyone.

Firstly: SPOILER WARNING!

There will be some major plot spoilers ahead. However, if you’ve seen the films (and I would guess that most of you have), none of the information here should be new to you. I’m just here to explain what the book has to offer, beyond what you might have seen or heard already. For what it’s worth, I don’t think seeing the film first detracts from the novel in any way; in fact, it might even make the novel more accessible.

Also, please note that this post will only cover Dune (1965), the original novel. It eventually became the first in a series of books, but I haven’t read any of these, so I won’t be discussing them.

A beginner’s guide to the Dune universe

Dune is set in the very far future, 21,000 years from the present day. Technological and scientific understanding has, in some ways, regressed, as the Dune universe is devoid of computers, following an event 10,000 years ago in which all “thinking machines” were destroyed. Society has returned to a feudal structure, with an emperor ruling over barons and lords, who rule over peasants. Democracy is a thing of the past: power is either inherited or taken by force.

However, in other ways, the Dune universe is far more technologically advanced than our own. The empire encompasses many planets, but travelling between them takes no time at all. Near-instantaneous space travel has been made possible by the ability to “fold” space, by which enormous ships are held stationary while the universe is moved around them. The ability to fold space belongs only the Spacing Guild, and as such, they control all inter-planetary travel. In the absence of computers, their navigators rely on a combination of mutated genes and substance use, allowing them to see into the future and plan safe routes. The substance that they require is known as “spice”, and it comes from only one place in the universe: the planet Arrakis.

The governance and power dynamics of Dune

All planets in the empire are fiefdoms, ruled by noble houses at the command of the emperor. These houses fight amongst each other for the fiefdoms and for the emperor’s approval, but they have each signed a treaty agreeing not to use “atomics” (i.e., nuclear weapons) against human targets. Still, they retain these weapons as deterrents. The emperor has the largest stockpile, and he commands an unstoppable military force known as the Sardaukar, making him practically untouchable. However, the fates of all houses depend on capitalism more than feuding: each of them, including the emperor, has a stake in CHOAM, the most powerful corporation in the universe. Practically every commercial good is traded through CHOAM channels, and as such, this single company controls the flow of wealth.

Without computers to aid them, humans have devised other means to solve problems, usually involving genetic mutations, selective breeding, or substance use to enhance particular traits. One such group of super-humans are the Mentats, who have enhanced their memory and perception. Their abilities allow them to sift through data, and to critically assess people and situations, making them invaluable advisers to leaders – including the emperor. Another group of super-humans are the Bene Gesserit, who have refined their abilities through selective breeding and mental conditioning. They are often called “witches” by the general populace, due to their seemingly magical abilities, such as controlling people with spoken commands. The Bene Gesserit claim to serve the empire by providing suitable partners for the rulers of great houses. However, their power and influence allow them to work towards a greater, entirely secret goal: to create a super-being known as the Kwisatz Haderach.

And within this universe, the story unfolds…

Paul is the son of Duke Leto Atreides, who governs a wild, rainy planet called Caladan. His mother is the Lady Jessica, one of the Bene Gesserit. The novel begins with Leto being ordered by the emperor to move from Caladan to Arrakis, the source of all spice in the universe. Arrakis was previously ruled by the Harkonnen family, who are enemies of the Atreides, and both Leto and Jessica know that their forced removal to Arrakis is a plan to bring them down. However, they have no option but to go.

Paul is generally presented as the protagonist of Dune, but Jessica, in many ways, is just as much of a main character. The story is often told from her perspective, and much of the plot revolves around her decisions. She defied her Bene Gesserit orders by having a son rather than a daughter, and since Paul was a child, she has trained him in the Bene Gesserit ways, teaching him to control his thoughts and emotions, and even to use “the voice” to control people around him.

Before they leave Caladan, the Reverend Mother of the Bene Gesserit comes to visit. She wants to know if Paul could be the Kwisatz Haderach – the super-being that her order has spent centuries trying to create through selective breeding. To her surprise, Paul passes her test, by overriding his reflexive impulses in the face of great pain. She wonders if he could be the one – already, it is clear that Paul is something special.

Arrakis… Desert planet…

(For those that have seen the film, this should all be sounding very familiar…)

Arrakis is dry and seemingly inhospitable to life. The Atreides learn about the local people, known as the Fremen, and about the climate, and the scarcity of water. They soon learn the difficulties of harvesting spice from the dunes, due to the enormous worms that live beneath the sand. These worms are hundreds of metres long, and are prone to swallowing entire fleets of spice-harvesting equipment in their cavernous, tooth-encrusted mouths.

The Atreides have barely settled in when the Harkonnen forces attack, aided by the emperor’s own Sardaukar troops. Leto is captured and killed, but Paul and Jessica escape to the desert. Here, Paul is exposed to the spice, and starts seeing visions of the future. He realises that his father is dead, and that he will become the duke. He sees that he will live among the Fremen, and that they will revere him, and that he will lead them into battle. When Paul and Jessica are taken in by a Fremen group, the people treat him as their prophesised messiah: the Lisan al-Gaib.

And, halfway through, this is where the book gets strange.

(NOTE: This section contains spoilers for the end of the book, which is different from the films! Skip ahead to the next section to avoid them!)

Paul and Jessica live with the Fremen for years. Jessica decides to drink the poisonous “Water of Life”, which comes from the spice, and this allows her to access the memories of all the Bene Gesserit Reverend Mothers that have ever lived. However, because she is pregnant, she gives these abilities to her unborn daughter, too. When her daughter, Alia, is born, she already has the training and wisdom of all the Reverend Mothers, and already knows how to speak.

Paul also decides to drink the “Water of Life” a few years later. Usually, this would kill a man – but because of his Bene Gesserit training, he manages to survive. This proves the prophecy to be true: he is the Kwisatz Haderach.

Over the years, Paul trains the Fremen to attack the Harkonnens. Eventually, the emperor is frustrated with the disruption to spice production, and he arrives with a troop of Sardaukar. The book ends with a battle between the Fremen and the imperial forces, during which Alia kills Baron Harkonnen, and Paul kills his heir. Paul then threatens to destroy all spice production unless the emperor abdicates. The emperor has no choice but to concede – and so Paul takes his place, and marries his daughter, the Princess Irulan, for good measure. It isn’t clear if Paul lives happily ever after: the book just ends.

(NOTE: If you have just spoiled the end of the book for yourself, in order to compare it to the films, this might have solidified your decision to read it or not. It is quite obvious why both directors (David Lynch and Denis Villeneuve) chose to modify the latter half of the story… It is nowhere near as cohesive or impactful as the first half.)

My thoughts overall…

For me, the strength of Dune is in the world-building, rather than the plot. I absolutely love the first half of the book, where we learn about the societal structures, the politics, and the different parties with stakes in spice production. Going in, I was nervous that the writing would have aged poorly since 1965, but it holds up really well. It isn’t difficult to read at all: there are lots of made-up words, but they are very distinct from each other, and you pick up the important ones quickly because there is always enough context to understand what is going on. Frank Herbert’s writing flows exceptionally well, and he is a fantastic communicator, even with complex ideas.

My thoughts overall…

For me, the strength of Dune is in the world-building, rather than the plot. I absolutely love the first half of the book, where we learn about the societal structures, the politics, and the different parties with stakes in spice production. Going in, I was nervous that the writing would have aged poorly since 1965, but it holds up really well. It isn’t difficult to read at all: there are lots of made-up words, but they are very distinct from each other, and you pick up the important ones quickly because there is always enough context to understand what is going on. Frank Herbert’s writing flows exceptionally well, and he is a fantastic communicator, even with complex ideas.

Dune is often cited as a timeless classic – and I have to agree. The setting is so alien, so removed from Earth, that it contains no references or social attitudes that could age poorly (well, almost none – we’ll get to that). The strange mix of medieval societal structures and alien technology means that the world feels simultaneously familiar and unknown, which is a perfect platform for constructing intrigue. The concepts in the story are universal, not pinned to any moment in time. In the late 20th century, spice could easily be read as an analogy for oil in the Middle East, but into the 21st century, the scarcity of water and fragility of climate feel like more pertinent themes. Tying this together is the “chosen one” narrative, which has been a staple of fiction since the dawn of storytelling.

In the next two sections, I’ll break down some of the key themes of the book that resonated with me.

What works

Dune is often labelled as “the greatest science fiction ever written”, so going in, I expected it to heavy on the science. However, from the very beginning, I realised that Dune was closer to traditional fantasy. The quarrelling houses, the fiefdoms, the swordfights… None of this would be out of place in a pseudo-medieval setting. The plot borrows heavily from fantasy tropes, and Paul ends up following a classic hero’s journey: noble-born, trained to take his father’s place as a leader, gaining superpowers, losing a fight, winning the next fight, marrying a princess, etc. And this is all fine with me. I love fantasy novels – especially this kind of fantasy. I don’t know why I didn’t realise sooner that Dune was exactly my cup of tea.

I love the politics of Dune, and all the competing factions, but for me, the best part of the world-building is the actual world of Arrakis. Herbert presents us with an alien ecosystem with enormous depth, where the geology, climate and lifeforms are all interdependent. Those of you familiar with the blog will know that I love this sort of stuff. And the complex system isn’t just a nice backdrop for the plot: Hebert places great emphasis on understanding and respecting the environment. A sense of human insignificance pervades the novel, felt most keenly when the enormous sandworms raise their heads, reminding us how small, and how short-lived, humans really are. Everyone in the universe is desperate for the spice excreted by the sandworms: the Spacing Guild, the Bene Gesserit, the Harkonnens, CHOAM and even the Fremen. But in the end, the fight is won by those who took the time to understand the natural system.

However, the planetary ecosystem is as “scientific” as Dune gets. The rest of the technology is essentially magic, with no feasible explanation. Indeed, the fact that Herbert acknowledges the Bene Gesserit as “witches” shows that he intended there to be some level of magic in this universe. The “Holtzman effect” is invoked as an explanation for shields, for folding space, and for suspensors and glowglobes, but there is no explanation for what this really is (as Terry Pratchett might say, it’s probably quantum). The decision to avoid “hard science” is probably why Dune is so timeless: its plot devices haven’t been made obsolete by the real-world advances in technology. And some of the rules of Herbert’s magical technology are hugely enjoyable; for example, the fact that shields are vulnerable to slow attacks, or the way that shields attract sandworms. This is all just very fun.

A final point that I think is handled really well is the concept of destiny. Again, this is a fantasy trope, and yet it still felt fresh to me, despite being written in 1965. Having an infallible protagonist runs the risk of ruining the story – because how can there be any tension if we know that Paul will always win? Each chapter starts with a fictional textbook entry from the Princess Irulan, written in the future, at a time in which Paul has already become a hero, but if anything, this increases our suspense, because we’re constantly trying to work out the path he takes to get there. Also, despite being able to see the future, Paul isn’t always sure what will happen next: sometimes his visions can be fuzzy, as if they could be overwritten. So, there is always the chance of him not foreseeing his own doom, or the doom of those around him. Another crucial element to his supposed “infallibility” is that although he might not die, there is still the risk of him losing parts of himself (e.g., his humanity). I think that this fear of a slow “character assassination” actually provides more suspense than if we were fearing for his life.

What could work better

I do wish that Herbert spent more time describing the landscapes of Arrakis, because when he does, there are some lovely, poetic images. Unfortunately, these are relatively few and far between, because most of the book hinges on the politics and the science of the ecosystem, rather than on the views from castle windows. When descriptions are necessary, Herbert provides them in exquisite detail – but I wonder if some unnecessary descriptions might have been nice too.

My biggest complaints are all from the second half of the book. The first half, to me, is a masterpiece. But the moment that Paul and Jessica are taken in by the Fremen, the story goes off the rails. Time starts moving faster, with months or even years passing between chapters. Developments are stated, rather than being given time to breathe, and this has severe consequences for certain relationships. For example, Paul’s relationship with Chani has no space to grow. They meet, and there isn’t a whole lot of chemistry: Paul has seen Chani in his dreams, and he knows they will end up together – so he doesn’t exactly put much effort in. Their partnership just sort of… happens. There also isn’t much time given over to the parental relationships that materialise in the latter half of the novel. At one point, something utterly tragic happens off-page, and this is only relayed to Paul (and to the reader) by a messenger. This left me deeply unhappy – not because of the fictional horrors, but because of how poorly they were communicated. It felt negligent on Herbert’s part, and these days, I imagine that an editor or test readers might pull him up on it.

Finally, Baron Harkonnen as a character didn’t sit well with me. He is cartoonishly evil, which just about works with the generally serious tone of the novel, although it feels a little bit out of place at times. Believability isn’t the issue here, and I don’t have a problem with flamboyant, psychopathic villains – I’m sure that such people exist and are very dangerous. The issue is that the baron’s homosexuality is constantly conflated with his evil nature, and with paedophilia. The baron is the only openly gay character in the book. And yes, there’s no reason that the evil villain can’t be gay, but to make this an intrinsic part of his evil nature feels very wrong to me. This is the part of the book that has aged the most poorly: you can see why it wasn’t included in the recent film adaptations.

The internal monologues…

One final point worth mentioning. All the thoughts of the characters are written in italics. When I realised this, I actually had a bit of a chuckle, remembering the David Lynch adaptation. In that film (a cinematic masterpiece), the characters often stare into the middle-distance as we are subjected to a whispered voiceover (like I said, a cinematic masterpiece). The realisation that David Lynch just took the italic segments from the book and had the actors whisper them was incredibly funny to me. What an incredible decision. Beyond criticism. Absolute cinema. Anyway, for those of you thinking of reading the book, beware: the italic inner monologues sometimes feel a bit heavy-handed.

In summary…

I didn’t really need to tell you that Dune is a timeless masterpiece, did I? Everyone already knows this, on a subconscious level. After all, it had a tied win for the Hugo Award in 1966, won the first ever Nebula Award for Best Novel, and has now sold over 20 million copies (probably more, since this figure is from 2016). It’s hardly an unsung classic. Hopefully, though, I have provided some context for those of you who might have been on the fence about reading it. If you love the same kind of fantasy and science fiction that I do, then Dune is definitely for you.

Happy reading, and have a lovely week!

You might also be interested in:

My review of the 1984 David Lynch Dune film

My post on the feasibility of sandworm movement