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Discovering the Classics: Frank Herbert's Dune

by: Carl Rafala

Discovering older novels in the genre can be as rewarding as the latest bestseller. What one finds intriguing is the fact that some of these older works show no signs of their age, that they read as well today as they probably did upon first publication-or first reading, as some of you may have read the book some years ago. I'd like to take a swipe at the possible reasons why, besides the obvious good writing.

In the wake of all the Dune prequel novels hitting the shelves, I had the pleasure of rereading the original work that started what has become a staple classic of science fiction. Epic in scope, drenched in high drama and heart-breaking tragedy, Frank Herbert's Dune contains all the elements of the mythic narrative, which is probably why stories that draw on such tropes and staples seem so familiar: the heroic superhuman, the exile, self-discovery and return, religion and/or mysticism, divination and oracular prophecy (slip in 'hyperawareness' for science fiction), politics, and a dangerous and often enigmatic universe (slip in 'the gods' here for the classics) with which the hero often struggles, seldom really winning so much as taking what one can and settling for a draw.

As the narrative quickly immerses the reader in the novel's world, one cannot help but be drawn to Paul Atreides, the young Duke robbed of his inheritance by the political and religious treachery of the Bene Gesserit sisterhood, his father's sworn enemies the Harkonnens, and the Emperor. You see, Paul was supposed to have been a girl, yet his mother took it upon herself to have a son, out of love for Duke Leto, Paul's father. This seriously puts a kink in the Bene Gesserit's plan to create a superhuman.
Gone into exile with his mother, the Lady Jessica, Paul not only finds fanatical followers among the desert dwelling Fremen (they believe he is their messiah), but also himself. In a classical dramatic and ironic narrative twist, Paul also discovers his unique genetic heritage. (I won't spoil it for those who have yet to read the book.)

As I followed Paul Atreides though the narrative I could not help but think of the Homeric, of Achilles' rage and Odysseus' journey of self-exploration and enlightenment. As Achilles' battle with fate is proven fruitless, and Odysseus' new found knowledge alters his understanding, Paul Atreides also is changed by his experiences. As with all epic figures, winning the battle becomes no true victory, but a quiet moment of reflection upon which the ultimate knowledge is for a brief moment revealed: one can never truly win against the gods/the enigmatic universe. Paul's victory comes at a price, his must forsake his love for a political marriage and fulfil his role as messiah. And there is a foreboding there in the story's end, a terrible realisation that the 'Powers That Be' have not been bent to his will after all, and that no one, no matter how supernaturally endowed, can ever supersede the will of those 'Powers'.

Questions of life, fate, the attempt to understand and come to grips with the supernatural, are all elements that peak our psychological interests and draw out our greater yearnings for order and meaning. Indeed, they seem to have followed us throughout time, as though it were some primordial vision reaching forth from some racial collective unconscious. I can hear the Jungians out there murmuring in agreement, and maybe they are right.

Dune is a captivating ride, with characters that are both believable and sympathetic; with spiritual and religious aspirations and yearnings that are forever the hallmark of humanity's deep-seated desire for some sort of greater meaning.

Liz Counihan is reading:

Perdido Street Station by China Miéville (Pan 2001)

This novel, winner of the Clarke award in 2001, is big, bravura and bursting with energy, just like its chief protagonist, New Crobuzon, city of miasmically mean streets that have never known the attentions of a cleaner, rivers that are sewers in all but name, and denizens who will do anything, legal or illegal, except painting and decorating. Brooding over the lot is the eponymous Perdido Street Station, something between Clapham Junction and the Lubianka; steam and screams being the order of the day.
Scuttling among the great unwashed of the city is a huge cast of characters, animal, vegetable, mineral and supernatural; among the former, Isaac Grimnebulin, Newton-like genius (without the bad attitude) and his insectoid girlfriend, Lin. Isaac, researching a new form of energy, inadvertently lets Something Very Nasty loose on the city, and spends most of the book trying to get rid of it; helped and hindered by friends (good), petty criminals (sort of good), major criminals (bad), the Government (really bad), and some wonderful Heath Robinson robots. Think Dickens, Mervyn Peake and Terry Gilliam's Brazil and you'll get the picture.
I enjoyed this a lot and relished Miéville's style and panache, but I did have a problem with certain moral choices made at the end of the story, which seemed to me to demonstrate a cowardly and unexpectedly merciless fundamentalism on the part of a major character.

The Line of Polity by Neal Asher (Tor 2003) new release

Neal Asher is one of Tor's new line-up of British SF and fantasy writers and Scheherazade readers may remember his popular two-part story "The Halfman's Cellar" which featured in issues 13 and 14 of the magazine.
"The Line of Polity" is a breathless tale of high level intrigue, hi-tech weaponry and scientific skulduggery. The Human Polity is poised to include the planet Masada in its awesome embrace, thus freeing its inhabitants from the cruel despotism of the fundamentalist Theocracy and bringing them the benefits of Polity justice, know-how and probably Coca Cola. But being good democrats, the godlike AIs who actually run the Polity, can't do so without a positive plebiscite or utter chaos, bringing with it a plea from the locals for intervention. (This all sounds horribly familiar just now..)
Enter Polity agent Ian Cormac and friends. They get caught up in the evil machinations of mad genius Skellor who has made himself into a kind of super cyborg using the mysterious organic "Jain" technology. At the same time they have to cope with a planet-size intelligent entity with a grudge, various criminals and separatists, the god-fearing but people-hating Theocracy, not to mention the voracious wildlife endemic to Masada, before the good AIs can gallop in with the cavalry.
There are lots of battles featuring weapons called APWs, ATVs, AGCs, ECS,s etc. - anyway all very big and scary and definitely the stars of the show. The people in the story are mostly part machine and even the ones who are nearly human tend to communicate in enigmatic grunts - rounded characters they ain't.
If you like lots of action, body parts and hi-techery then this is for you. For me the lack of real humanity was a problem. This may have been exacerbated by the fact that this story is a sequel to Asher's novel "Gridlinked", which I have not read, and in which many of the lead characters were perhaps delineated more clearly. Even so, in this book, there was no physical description of the hero, Cormac, until after page 300, which doesn't exactly encourage empathy!
My favourite "characters" were undoubtedly the magnificent man-munching monsters of Masada, the siluroynes, heroynes, the horrid hooder, and best of all the gabbleduck. You're safe as long as it keeps gabbling - " Dooble-ooble-caro-flock"
When it stops, you get eaten.
"Scabber-abber-abber…………….munch."

The Other Wind by Ursula Le Guin (Orion Children's Books 2003)

I read this with some trepidation. The original Earthsea trilogy, comprising A Wizard of Earthsea, The Tombs of Atuan and The Farthest Shore appeared in the sixties and seventies, early in Le Guin's career. The first in the series told the story of Ged, greatest of wizards, from his childhood and training at the school for wizards at Roke (oh yes, a lot sooner and a lot more interesting than Hogwarts) to his terrible haunting by a shadow creature that he had inadvertently summoned while boasting to his school friends. In the subsequent books we follow Ged in his adventures as a brilliant and daring young wizard rescuing an imprisoned girl and a lost treasure; and finally as an older man, now the Archmage of all Earthsea, travelling through the lands of death to save his world. These books were, to me, among the greatest stories ever written for children, and pretty high up on my list of favourite adult reads as well.
Then, twenty years later, came Tehanu. By then Le Guin was, of course, older - maybe, she felt, wiser. Her writing, although still mostly written in the science fiction or fantasy mode, was heavily influenced by her politics, especially feminism, and had become very serious, often didactic. Tehanu continued the tale of Ged, now bereft of his wizardly powers, and Tenar, the woman he had married. Tenar, previously a spirited high-priestess, was now a dreary earth mother. The once fiery Ged had become a whinging old geezer. Tehanu, the horribly scarred child, represented all abused children. There was a dragon somewhere, I seem to recall, but other than that I can't remember a thing about the plot. It was all very worthy and I hated it. Tehanu was subtitled the Last Book of Earthsea. Luckily Le Guin thought again.
The Other Wind doesn't have the excitement and elan of the original trilogy but it does have wizards, magic and dragons. It has an interesting plot and it finally resolves something I had never understood or liked, the dreadfulness of the unlife that Earthsea humans endure after death. What happens to animals? What happens to people from the non-magical lands? In The Other Wind we find out. The answer Le Guin provides reminded me of a similar resolution at the end of Phillip Pullman's The Amber Spyglass. It's interesting that both novels were published in the same year - looks like great minds think alike.
The mood in this novel is sombre but with reason. The central character, the gentle sorcerer, Alder, mourns his dead wife and fears the terrible dreams that come to him at night. He asks Ged for help, but Ged is no longer a mage. Alder is sent to the King and with his help and the help of Tehanu, the scarred Woman of Gont and her kin the dragons, the central wound in the fabric of Earthsea is healed at last. As always with Le Guin there is a fearless honesty and this time, unlike in Tehanu, the characters are not merely symbols but engage our interest as individuals. I have to admit it's all a bit more touchy-feely than I like and humour is entirely absent but the descriptive writing and world building are as superb as ever.
Recommended.

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