Dune is the type of book that I appreciate more than I enjoy. I am glad I read it, certainly, and in many ways it exceeded my expectations. It is wildly inventive, and I was immersed in the interplanetary worlds Herbert creates. For a reader in 2021, Dune covers somewhat familiar ground with its narrative of a “chosen one” who undergoes training in order to take up leadership in a fight larger than he (or she) imagined. With a book this influential, it was difficult for me to sort out what dynamics Herbert essentially invented and what existing myths he popularized.
Even if Dune‘s story of Paul Atreides and the war over the invaluable spice resource on the planet Arrakis is somewhat familiar, there were still surprises along the way. I enjoyed the interior monologues of Paul and his mother, Lady Jessica, both trained in the Bene Gesserit way (a sort of hyper-focused, hyper-aware state of being that allows them to see the motivations and lies of those around them). There is a dinner party scene soon after the Atreides arrival on Arrakis where Jessica tries to puzzle out the complex motivations of everyone at the table. Each word she, Paul, and Duke Leto say carries immense weight, and Jessica can see the reverberations of each comment. This brings me to Herbert’s other achievement: the plots within plots within schemes within tricks that characters set up. In a sequence that surprised me, the actions of fully the first third of the book are explained by the antagonist, Baron Harkonnen somewhere around Chapter 2. The reader watches them play out, which should be boring–but Herbert adds enough complexity (and a few events the Baron doesn’t anticipate) to keep the plot moving and to set up the conflicts of the rest of the novel. I can’t say I’ve read anything quite like it.
I don’t plan on reading Dune again, but I recommend it.