I don’t have enough fingers on both hands to count the amount of times I’ve tried reading Frank Herbert’s weighty 1965 ecological science fiction tome and not gotten past the first few chapters. I think the problem’s been my over familiarity and fondness for the David Lynch film adaptation which, whilst being frowned upon by many, is still in my top ten favourite films list after all these years.
So is the book startlingly different? Not really, which has been the biggest surprise for me. Would I recommend it to a friend? Probably not, it can be as clinical as a reference book without the factual hook to keep you riveted.
This is my second but first successful listen to the audiobook edition (after many paperback attempts), which mixes a straight reading with sporadic use of a supporting cast of character vocalisations (I’m guessing the extra actors only appear during the portions of the recording meant for the abridgement). I wisely opted for downloading the unabridged version onto my MP3 player rather than listening to the tapes, thereby forcing myself to concentrate in bed at night without the usual daytime distractions. I just couldn’t imagine myself ever getting through the print/e-book edition and I wanted to say that I’d read it, in whatever form, from cover to cover at least once before I died.
So, twenty years after my first try, it’s done.
One thing I really did like about Herbert’s writing style is how each chapter feels like the act of a stage play. They’re all very self contained and rounded at the edges. There aren’t great stretches of time passing or lengthy travelogues (these happen “off screen”, as it were); each chapter is set generally in one place and in one timeframe. The characters walk on, they talk/fight/think and they exeunt. It’s a very focused and direct way of delivering a narrative and might also be described as mimicking a string of short stories stitched together to create an anthology.
It’s worth arguing that history has mistakenly taken the main character of Dune to be Paul Atreides, however his mother, Jessica, shares just as much of the narrative, if not more, and her story is perhaps even more emotionally compelling than her son’s.
There have been complaints about the fact that the only homosexual character in the novel is the villain, but the book doesn’t imply that he’s bad because of his homosexuality. In fact there’s a matter-of-fact way in which his same-sex relations are discussed that is actually quite refreshing, although this may just be my interpretation. I sort of felt that if the bad guys can be cool about being gay then there’s hope for the good guys.
The book feels quite topically current, too, with it’s central story arc involving Caucasian capitalists attempting to ingratiate themselves and ultimately dominate/control a seemingly feral (but underestimated) desert dwelling race who have control over a politically powerful substance.
But beyond it’s space opera overtones it’s undertones are it’s strongest. This is a book about the brutal rites and rituals of a community surviving in a merciless environment and the perception of uninitiated outsiders that their violent but necessary customs are a form of madness.
Arrakis is said to train the faithful. Frank Herbert’s Dune, I think it’s safe to say, will train and reward the patient. Unlike it’s scorched and waterless titular planet the novel lacks warmth; and yet literately it can be as dangerously dry as it’s encompassing deserts.
I’m glad I finally got to the end though. I can see where people disagreed with the Lynch adaptation, but I can also appreciate why certain things were changed and compressed to make an entertaining mainstream movie. There’s only perceived fantasy in Dune the novel, whereas Dune the film takes it one step further to the mystical beyond.
