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A review by notwellread
Dune by Frank Herbert
4.0
I jumped on this particular bandwagon after watching the new film (and also watching the 1984 David Lynch adventure at home with a friend), and it suffices to say I was not disappointed.
Herbert is the ultimate ideas guy, and although his writing is not always the most literary, his vision is timeless. Although more than half a century has passed since Dune was written and it has exerted such weighty influence on the whole science fiction genre (not least on Star Wars), it offers a fresh and original reading experience where most of its contemporaries would come across as dated and cliché. I think a key component in keeping the vision timeless is the absence of computers: where something like the original 1970s Star Trek series is clearly dated now because so much of the technology considered futuristic then is now commonplace (particularly mobile phones, which were explicitly inspired by Captain Kirk’s communicator), in this universe ‘thinking machines’ were outlawed after some kind of Blade Runner-type conflict called the Butlerian Jihad, and instead, humans are specially trained to fulfil the same capabilities and more.
The ability to explore real-world problems in new contexts is one of the greatest strengths of speculative fiction. Set in the distant future, there are occasional references to our world, which to them is now ancient history, and certain details (like the ‘Orange Catholic’ Bible) hearken back to a world we can recognise, but the most familiar element would be the petty squabbles between nobles over land and resources, which come at the expense of the native people caught in the crossfire. We see the exploration of familiar political and religious themes now on a galactic scale: when one ancient house is destroyed, it represents the end of tens of thousands of years of rule, and when another has dominion over territory, it is over whole planets rather than mere patches of land. The Bene Gesserit have selectively bred generations upon generations trying to achieve the perfect genetic mix to configure the Kwisatz Haderach, and may have carried on for many more successive attempts had it not been for Jessica’s rebellion. The Fremen, who are based on the Bedouin people, have fought to survive not only the harsh desert climate, but also invading forces after their planet’s coveted spice, for years before the story begins.
The marriage of religion and politics is found in two ways: in the Bene Gesserit, and in the Islamist themes of the Holy Man who will embody the aims of both. The Bene Gesserit are an elite, ostensibly religious organisation comprised only of women, who learn preternatural levels of skill through intense physical and mental training, and then infiltrate powerful families and other political organisations to further their aims. Because of this, they are widely viewed by men with suspicion, and are often called ‘witches’ or other demeaning terms. This was one of my favourite aspects of the book because Herbert explored both the unseen power exercised by women in a still deeply patriarchal, feudal society, as well as the paranoia and resistance which which men counter, primarily out of fear of losing the upper hand.
The figure of Muad’Dib, a figure prophesied among the Fremen who will lead them to victory against their oppressors. Paul’s visions of black-clad armies bearing his banners and fighting wars in his name make it clear that this is his fate, whether he likes it or not. The inspiration taken from the story of Muhammad makes the intersection with politics clear in a way that invoking Judaeo-Christian messianic traditions would not: the manifestation of their Chosen One figure is the driver to fight for their independence, drive out invaders, and regain control of their own land. It’s fair to criticise that the interspersed excerpts from the writings of the Princess Irulan give the game away on this and other plot points such as, and make the story as a whole somewhat predictable: thanks to her retrospectives, we pretty much know Paul will be Muad’Dib and that he will be successful in and renowned for his exploits after the fact. I also guessed that , because I figured she had to be slotted into the narrative somehow.
However, the Fremen’s fight for survival in such harsh conditions also bears a still deeper significance: despite the obvious religious and political themes at the forefront of the novel, the foreword is devoted not to politicians or priests, but to labourers: “to the dry-land ecologists, wherever they may be, in whatever time they work”. Above all else, Dune is about ecology. The destruction of the natural environment of Arrakis as the spice is stripped from the planet is a key theme, and speaking of dry land, Herbert illustrates beautifully how water is so scarce and precious for the Fremen that they can’t even fathom concepts like rain or drowning, because such an abundance of water is quite literally alien to them. Unlike the outsiders, however, they don’t view the desert, or the huge, destructive sandworms, in an antagonistic light: the desert is their home, and the sandworms are perceived to be the manifestation of their god’s divine will.
This is not just a novel for science fiction readers: the world building is so rich and real, the themes can resonate with anyone, and the more bizarre fantastical elements manage to stop just short of silliness or absurdity. For those who particularly enjoy it, there are more in the series which delve deeper into the philosophical themes that were the highlight of the experience for me; for those who aren’t so keen, there’s the option of leaving it as a one-book-stand which offers a wholly cohesive, self-contained, and highly compelling story.
Herbert is the ultimate ideas guy, and although his writing is not always the most literary, his vision is timeless. Although more than half a century has passed since Dune was written and it has exerted such weighty influence on the whole science fiction genre (not least on Star Wars), it offers a fresh and original reading experience where most of its contemporaries would come across as dated and cliché. I think a key component in keeping the vision timeless is the absence of computers: where something like the original 1970s Star Trek series is clearly dated now because so much of the technology considered futuristic then is now commonplace (particularly mobile phones, which were explicitly inspired by Captain Kirk’s communicator), in this universe ‘thinking machines’ were outlawed after some kind of Blade Runner-type conflict called the Butlerian Jihad, and instead, humans are specially trained to fulfil the same capabilities and more.
The ability to explore real-world problems in new contexts is one of the greatest strengths of speculative fiction. Set in the distant future, there are occasional references to our world, which to them is now ancient history, and certain details (like the ‘Orange Catholic’ Bible) hearken back to a world we can recognise, but the most familiar element would be the petty squabbles between nobles over land and resources, which come at the expense of the native people caught in the crossfire. We see the exploration of familiar political and religious themes now on a galactic scale: when one ancient house is destroyed, it represents the end of tens of thousands of years of rule, and when another has dominion over territory, it is over whole planets rather than mere patches of land. The Bene Gesserit have selectively bred generations upon generations trying to achieve the perfect genetic mix to configure the Kwisatz Haderach, and may have carried on for many more successive attempts had it not been for Jessica’s rebellion. The Fremen, who are based on the Bedouin people, have fought to survive not only the harsh desert climate, but also invading forces after their planet’s coveted spice, for years before the story begins.
The marriage of religion and politics is found in two ways: in the Bene Gesserit, and in the Islamist themes of the Holy Man who will embody the aims of both. The Bene Gesserit are an elite, ostensibly religious organisation comprised only of women, who learn preternatural levels of skill through intense physical and mental training, and then infiltrate powerful families and other political organisations to further their aims. Because of this, they are widely viewed by men with suspicion, and are often called ‘witches’ or other demeaning terms. This was one of my favourite aspects of the book because Herbert explored both the unseen power exercised by women in a still deeply patriarchal, feudal society, as well as the paranoia and resistance which which men counter, primarily out of fear of losing the upper hand.
The figure of Muad’Dib, a figure prophesied among the Fremen who will lead them to victory against their oppressors. Paul’s visions of black-clad armies bearing his banners and fighting wars in his name make it clear that this is his fate, whether he likes it or not. The inspiration taken from the story of Muhammad makes the intersection with politics clear in a way that invoking Judaeo-Christian messianic traditions would not: the manifestation of their Chosen One figure is the driver to fight for their independence, drive out invaders, and regain control of their own land. It’s fair to criticise that the interspersed excerpts from the writings of the Princess Irulan give the game away on this and other plot points such as
Spoiler
the death of Paul’s fatherSpoiler
Paul would marry her at the endHowever, the Fremen’s fight for survival in such harsh conditions also bears a still deeper significance: despite the obvious religious and political themes at the forefront of the novel, the foreword is devoted not to politicians or priests, but to labourers: “to the dry-land ecologists, wherever they may be, in whatever time they work”. Above all else, Dune is about ecology. The destruction of the natural environment of Arrakis as the spice is stripped from the planet is a key theme, and speaking of dry land, Herbert illustrates beautifully how water is so scarce and precious for the Fremen that they can’t even fathom concepts like rain or drowning, because such an abundance of water is quite literally alien to them. Unlike the outsiders, however, they don’t view the desert, or the huge, destructive sandworms, in an antagonistic light: the desert is their home, and the sandworms are perceived to be the manifestation of their god’s divine will.
This is not just a novel for science fiction readers: the world building is so rich and real, the themes can resonate with anyone, and the more bizarre fantastical elements manage to stop just short of silliness or absurdity. For those who particularly enjoy it, there are more in the series which delve deeper into the philosophical themes that were the highlight of the experience for me; for those who aren’t so keen, there’s the option of leaving it as a one-book-stand which offers a wholly cohesive, self-contained, and highly compelling story.