Dune • Frank Herbert

In truth, I don’t usually read science fiction and can’t really warm to the genre. I can’t even put my finger on why. Surely it has to do with the fact that I look for a beautiful world in books — a place I want to sink into — and the drab, infinite expanses of space are a rather uninviting destination. It’s different with nonfiction on physics, cosmology, and similar topics, which I devour with fascination time and again. Dune is a book one repeatedly stumbles upon — a science-fiction classic with cult status — and it piqued my curiosity after all. It has probably sat unread on my shelf for two years, and now I’ve taken the plunge with the first volume of this science-fiction epic and would like to share my impressions here.

The story is set in the distant future. Duke Leto of House Atreides receives the desert planet Arrakis as a new fief from the Padishah Emperor. There, however, he faces the intrigues of House Harkonnen. For Arrakis is the source of the spice, a coveted substance mined on an industrial scale, whose consumption grants the ability to see into the future. At the center of the narrative stands Paul, the Duke’s son, and his hero’s journey — his struggle to survive in this inhospitable world and to find his place within its web of power.

I didn’t read up on the book beforehand, nor did I look at the blurb — as I so often don’t. There aren’t that many science-fiction classics, and I let myself be guided by its popularity; after all, the book was published more than fifty years ago. It can’t be that bad if it has endured so long, is still read, and is being adapted anew for film. Once I picked it up, it quickly became clear that this is the first volume of a multi-part cycle. The pace is simply too measured, and stylistically it is expansive, lingering again and again on detail — especially when it comes to the characters’ thoughts, which are explored at length. I liked that on the one hand, since it lends the protagonists and their adversaries a certain depth. In exchange, the plot sometimes moves forward only slowly, resulting in noticeable stretches.

From the very first page you can tell that Herbert describes and creates a complex world with its own history, many actors, and a thoroughly constructed background. Over the course of the novel, you do get a good overview of this imagined future with its various factions and peoples; for me, it ultimately felt fairly exhaustive and left only a few loose ends.

While Herbert gives the main characters ample space and lets the reader immerse deeply in their inner worlds, nearly all the figures struck me as somewhat stereotypical. The antagonist — Baron Harkonnen — and his nephews are classic villains and feel highly exaggerated in that role. Likewise Paul Atreides, who from the outset is an Old Shatterhand, a Jean Valjean, or an Edmond Dantès, and the reader immediately knows he is the infallible hero. Of course, that’s intentional; one can read a deeper meaning into it — a necessary consequence of a world in political and economic conflict — which I find a bit far-fetched. Or it’s simply a device to inject tension into the story, which seems more likely to me. I also found the main characters only moderately sympathetic, so I cared only to a limited extent about their fates.

What I found very fascinating is the stark desert world, which Herbert renders quite compellingly. As you read, you feel how precious water is there and how every drop is fought over. It inevitably makes you reflect on what a lush, life-friendly place our Earth is. The desert planet took vivid shape in my mind’s eye, and this imagined harsh world did manage to cast a spell on me. I also think the Fremen are especially well realized — a people who inhabit the planet like its indigenous inhabitants. With their customs and social structures, they possess something archaic; in their word choice and manner of speech, they often recall Native Americans — except they are shaped by a lethal environment in which water is the most valuable good. They reminded me of the cultural circles in Horizon Zero Dawn, where a certain level of technology coexists with strong theism and archaic superstition intertwined with a feudal order.

The political intrigues, in turn, reminded me a bit of George R. R. Martin’s books. In Dune there are likewise various peoples and political actors competing for power and influence, each pursuing its own interests — only extrapolated to a backdrop of multiple planets and interstellar travel. That too creates suspense, but it’s a device that only works for me to a degree, especially when the aims become rather clear and linear, making things feel only somewhat realistic.

Dune is the first volume of a multi-part series. The novel originally appeared as a serialized story in a science-fiction magazine. In total, the cycle comprises six novels, and if one believes the descriptions on the internet, the series has achieved cult status by now. Notably, it was among the first science-fiction novels to sketch a vision of a possible future while engaging with a variety of themes: competition for scarce resources; the deliberate ecological exploitation of the desert planet in favor of economic interests; and, with the Bene Gesserit, a feminist component — though in my view only weakly developed. Topics like genetics and artificial intelligence also find their place in the saga, as does the conscious interference in human genetic development, albeit only on a superficial level. Despite this hidden wealth of themes, I did not find the book truly philosophical; it is too focused on plot and world-building and remains more on the surface. What I did enjoy very much was the concept of prescience and also the Mentats — humans whose mental capacities rival those of computers.

Frank Herbert was an American author, lived from 1920 to 1986, worked as a journalist and photographer, studied creative writing, and held several other jobs. The novel cycle — his literary breakthrough — appeared in 1965 and won multiple awards. Looking at the list of Herbert’s works, he was indeed very productive. Anyone fascinated by this world will find enough material here for many, many hours of reading.

I picked up the Heyne Verlag edition — an exception for me, since not a single Heyne title has ever truly won me over; on the contrary, I’ve found some of their books a total flop. So I tend to give the publisher a wide berth. There isn’t really a beautiful German-language edition of this book, so I chose this paperback version, which looks quite attractive with its black cover and the pictured desert planet. The book also includes an extensive appendix with further information about the world and a simple map at the end, which, for me, offered no added value.

I found the included color illustrations by John Schoenherr very appealing — atmospheric, with that typical ’60s science-fiction style. They fire the imagination, but there aren’t so many that anything is spoiled. In that context, I find it a real shame there’s no handsome hardcover edition of this book.

Conclusion: If you’ve read this review to the end, you can probably sense between the lines that the book didn’t win me over. It’s certainly not bad: it builds a solid, epic tension, ranges widely in its themes, and — not least — the desert planet Arrakis, with its barren, hostile environment, is a fascinating setting. But I found the characters unsympathetic, stereotypical, and overdrawn; the plot too slow and excessively epic; and the competing, scheming houses and factions too contrived and transparent. I can understand why many are captivated by the series — it contains numerous elements that lend the story depth and the world a certain authenticity, especially in the context of the time in which it appeared and the novelty it represented. It just didn’t speak to me, and I won’t be reading the subsequent volumes. The lack of a handsome, classy edition also disappoints me. For me, then, it’s not a must-read classic — but readers who enjoy science fiction certainly won’t be disappointed.

Book Information: Dune • Frank Herbert • Heyne Verlag • 800 pages • ISBN 9783453317178