Every time I see my copy of Dune on the shelf, I can't help but think: NERRD! But pick it up and read the first few pages and be reminded just how amazing it is.
Dune, by Frank Herbert. Chilton Publishing (1965).
Here is my review.
PLOT SUMMARY
Tell me about your Spoilers, Usul
More to the plot, Spice is only found on one planet: Dune. This creates problems. The first problem is the harvesting. Dune, as the name implies, is a harsh desert world. Additionally, the Spice is, well, sandworm poop. And not just any sandworm, but ginormous honkin' anger sandworms. Mining operations attract the sandworms, which come and crush the bejezus out of your equipment and eat your workers. This tends to come up in labor talks.
The other problem is that -- what with the Spice being so valuable and found only on one planet -- folks have been slaughtering each other for millennia to control Dune. Not to mention oppressing the indigenous population, which is more of a problem than you might imagine because the indigenous population of Dune are the Fremen, a tough-as-nails desert folk who have no interest in folding space and palace intrigue and basically just want to be left the hell alone. From time to time the Fremen and the ruling House de jour on Dune go at it with predictable results. The symbolism of a tough indigenous desert people protecting a rare and valuable natural resource from technologically-superior outsiders I shall leave to the reader.
Enter Paul Atredes. Favorite son of the royal and noble Atredes family, on deck to control Dune and duke it out with the Fremen (in true Space Opera fashion, governments in the Dune universe are organized as Space Monarchies). Alas, palace intrigue ensues and the Harkonnens -- mortal enemies of the Atredes with bad attitudes and worse grooming habits -- wind up with the place instead.
Paul flees to the desert with his mother Jessica, member of the Bene Gesserit, a mysterious witch-coven/SuperPAC who for centuries have been trying to find a bloke who can drink the Waters of Something -- which I sincerely hope isn't worm pee but probably is -- drink the Waters of Something without dying. Paul and Jessica bump into the Fremen, and some worms, and some Waters of Something, which Paul drinks. It doesn't kill him, but like Crystal Gale makes his brown eyes blue. This means he is not Paul but rather Maud'Dib, legendary Fremen Messiah come to rid Dune of Fremen enemies both foreign and domestic.
Jessica also gets into the Waters of Something, which makes her squirt out a baby: Paul's weird little sister Alia. Spice girl isn't given much to do until the sequels, so here Alia just stands around and creeps people out. (Eat Spice while pregnant and your baby is born with hair, teeth, and talking. Like Merlin. And glowing blue eyes. A sort of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome in reverse.) Alia also gets burdened with dialog like He IS the Har-oot Shakka Lakka which, let's face it, may work on the page but tend to bring screen adaptations to a screeching halt. FYI.
Now we're in the home stretch. In true Lawrence of Arabia fashion, Paul nee Maud'Dib wins over the Fremen, and the sandworms, which they learn to ride, and they storm the palace and clobber the Harkonnens. The baddies routed, it begins to rain, for some reason, and with Dune thus tamed everyone looks for work and Maud'Dib divvies up the planet into reasonable lots to build comfortable Cape Cods. Roll credits.
VERDICT
Dune was revolutionary when published in 1965. The popular view of science fiction back then was muscly squared-jawed guys punching villains with mustachios and saving space babes. Dune had its own terminology (it came with a glossary), dense politics, competing systems of religion, a running thread of ecological science, and the full story plays out over thousands of years. Herbert's writing is mercifully sexless -- perhaps "tastefully innuendoed" would be a better description -- which is always a plus (as a rule, anytime a science fiction author gets frisky, prepare to cringe. I'm lookin' at you Heinlein). And if all the intrigue went over your head, there's giant ravenous sandworms and space ships and knife fights.
Dune won all sorts of awards, including the Hugo and the very first Nebula, In fact, about the only award it hasn't won is a Browlfy (sorry, non-fiction only). There's been like twenty-two sequels, the series eventually taken over by Brian Herbert (Frank's son) and Kevin Anderson. The books have spawned a movie and two miniseries, David Lynch's Lynchian big-screen adaptation a raging yang to SyFy's more reasoned yins. The miniseries don't get much love, which is a shame. They feature A-list actors (William Hurt, Susan Sarandon, Alice Krieg) and the whole thing looks fetching, even more-so considering what must have been a tight budget for something so ambitious. Not to mention the miniseries sand worms are muy bitchin'. Sometimes there's just no pleasing some people. Then again, there's people who insist Dune is meh, and if you really want to get into Herbert you need to read his earlier works like Whipping Star. Go figure.
And Dune sold a gazillion copies. In this day of reality TV, warmed-over zombie hash, and saccharine vampire fluff, it's odd to think there was a time when writing a story about space politics laced with complex ecological and religious overtones could make you rich. It's every wannabe science fiction author's dream come true. Kudos, Mr. Herbert.
Grade: A
Cover image of the 40th anniversary edition of Dune appears under fair use according to United States copyright law as it serves to illustrate an article discussing the original work and does not in a reasonable person's mind constitute an infringement of the owner's rights to receive compensation for the copyrighted work.
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