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Dune: The inspiration for the blockbuster film (The Dune Sequence Book 1) Kindle Edition
What The Lord of the Rings is to fantasy, Dune is to science fiction. Presenting one of the most influential works of all time, which has inspired countless other stories for more than half a century, this is an awe-inspiring world, and a story of truly epic scope.
'An astonishing science fiction phenomenon' WASHINGTON POST
'I know nothing comparable to it except The Lord of the Rings' Arthur C Clarke
'It is possible that Dune is even more relevant now than when it was first published' NEW YORKER
Paul Atreides, son of Duke Leto Atreides, and all of his family have been sent to the planet Arrakis, having been outmanoeuvred by their arch-enemy Baron Harkonnen.
Arrakis - also known as Dune - is an arid place, but a planet of fabulous wealth, the only source of a drug prized throughout the Galactic Empire: Spice.
What will happen next will change everything. There are secrets on Dune, known only to the planet's native people, the Fremen. They have been waiting for their moment to make their move.
Paul will be brought into the path by terrible events beyond his control. But Paul himself is important. He is the child of destiny, a child of prophecy, and within him is the power to bring the Empire to its knees.
Joint winner of the HUGO AWARD for best novel, 1966
Winner of the NEBULA AWARD for best novel, 1965
Read the book which inspired the Academy Award-winning and jaw-dropping cinematic events Dune: Part One (2021) and Dune: Part Two (2024). A science fiction spectacular like no other, this is a deeply climate conscious novel, and a compelling family saga for the ages.
- ISBN-13978-1399623001
- PublisherGateway
- Publication dateDecember 30, 2010
- LanguageEnglish
- File size2732 KB
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Editorial Reviews
From Library Journal
Copyright 1999 Reed Business Information, Inc.
Review
“I know nothing comparable to it except The Lord of the Rings.”—Arthur C. Clarke
“It is possible that Dune is even more relevant now than when it was first published.”—The New Yorker
“An astonishing science fiction phenomenon.”—The Washington Post
“One of the monuments of modern science fiction.”—Chicago Tribune
“Powerful, convincing, and most ingenious.”—Robert A. Heinlein
“Herbert’s creation of this universe, with its intricate development and analysis of ecology, religion, politics and philosophy, remains one of the supreme and seminal achievements in science fiction.”—Louisville Times
About the Author
In 1952, Herbert began publishing science fiction with “Looking for Something?” in Startling Stories. But his emergence as a writer of major stature did not occur until 1965, with the publication of Dune. Dune Messiah, Children of Dune, God Emperor of Dune, Heretics of Dune, and Chapterhouse: Dune followed, completing the saga that the Chicago Tribune would call “one of the monuments of modern science fiction.” Herbert is also the author of some twenty other books, including The White Plague, The Dosadi Experiment, and Destination: Void. He died in 1986.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
-from "Manual of Muad'Dib"
by the Princess Irulan
In the week before their departure to Arrakis, when all the final scurrying about had reached a nearly unbearable frenzy, an old crone came to visit the mother of the boy, Paul.
It was a warm night at Castle Caladan, and the ancient pile of stone that had served the Atreides family as home for twenty-six generations bore that cooled-sweat feeling it acquired before a change in the weather.
The old woman was let in by the side door down the vaulted passage by Paul's room and she was allowed a moment to peer in at him where he lay in his bed.
By the half-light of a suspensor lamp, dimmed and hanging near the floor, the awakened boy could see a bulky female shape at his door, standing one step ahead of his mother. The old woman was a witch shadow-hair like matted spiderwebs, hooded 'round darkness of features, eyes like glittering jewels.
"Is he not small for his age, Jessica?" the old woman asked. Her voice wheezed and twanged like an untuned baliset.
Paul's mother answered in her soft contralto: "The Atreides are known to start late getting their growth, Your Reverence."
"So I've heard, so I've heard," wheezed the old woman. "Yet he's already fifteen."
"Yes, Your Reverence."
"He's awake and listening to us," said the old woman. "Sly little rascal." She chuckled. "But royalty has need of slyness. And if he's really the Kwisatz Haderach . . . well. . . ."
Within the shadows of his bed, Paul held his eyes open to mere slits. Two bird-bright ovals-the eyes of the old woman-seemed to expand and glow as they stared into his.
"Sleep well, you sly little rascal," said the old woman. "Tomorrow you'll need all your faculties to meet my gom jabbar."
And she was gone, pushing his mother out, closing the door with a solid thump.
Paul lay awake wondering: What's a gom jabbar?
In all the upset during this time of change, the old woman was the strangest thing he had seen.
Your Reverence.
And the way she called his mother Jessica like a common serving wench instead of what she was-a Bene Gesserit Lady, a duke's concubine and mother of the ducal heir.
Is a gom jabbar something of Arrakis I must know before we go there? he wondered.
He mouthed her strange words: Gom jabbar . . .
Kwisatz Haderach.
There had been so many things to learn. Arrakis would be a place so different from Caladan that Paul's mind whirled with the new knowledge. Arrakis-Dune-Desert Planet.
Thufir Hawat, his father's Master of Assassins, had explained it: their mortal enemies, the Harkonnens, had been on Arrakis eighty years, holding the planet in quasi-fief under a CHOAM Company contract to mine the geriatric spice, melange. Now the Harkonnens were leaving to be replaced by the House of Atreides in fief-complete-an apparent victory for the Duke Leto. Yet, Hawat had said, this appearance contained the deadliest peril, for the Duke Leto was popular among the Great Houses of the Landsraad.
"A popular man arouses the jealousy of the powerful," Hawat had said.
Arrakis-Dune-Desert Planet.
Paul fell asleep to dream of an Arrakeen cavern, silent people all around him moving in the dim light of glowglobes. It was solemn there and like a cathedral as he listened to a faint sound-the drip-drip-drip of water. Even while he remained in the dream, Paul knew he would remember it upon awakening. He always remembered the dreams that were predictions.
The dream faded.
Paul awoke to feel himself in the warmth of his bed-thinking . . . thinking. This world of Castle Caladan, without play or companions his own age, perhaps did not deserve sadness in farewell. Dr. Yueh, his teacher, had hinted that the faufreluches class system was not rigidly guarded on Arrakis. The planet sheltered people who lived at the desert edge without caid or bashar to command them: will-o'-the-sand people called Fremen, marked down on no census of the Imperial Regate.
Arrakis-Dune-Desert Planet.
Paul sensed his own tensions, decided to practice one of the mind-body lessons his mother had taught him. Three quick breaths triggered the responses: he fell into the floating awareness . . . focusing the consciousness . . . aortal dilation . . . avoiding the unfocused mechanism of consciousness . . . to be conscious by choice . . . blood enriched and swift-flooding the overload regions . . . one does not obtain food-safety-freedom by instinct alone . . . animal consciousness does not extend beyond the given moment nor into the idea that its victims may become extinct . . . the animal destroys and does not produce . . . animal pleasures remain close to sensation levels and avoid the perceptual . . . the human requires a background grid through which to see his universe . . . focused consciousness by choice, this forms your grid . . . bodily integrity follows nerve-blood flow according to the deepest awareness of cell needs . . . all things/cells/beings are impermanent . . . strive for flow-permanence within. . . .
Over and over and over within Paul's floating awareness the lesson rolled.
When dawn touched Paul's window sill with yellow light, he sensed it through closed eyelids, opened them, hearing then the renewed bustle and hurry in the castle, seeing the familiar patterned beams of his bedroom ceiling.
The hall door opened and his mother peered in, hair like shaded bronze held with black ribbon at the crown, her oval face emotionless and green eyes staring solemnly.
"You're awake," she said. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes."
He studied the tallness of her, saw the hint of tension in her shoulders as she chose clothing for him from the closet racks. Another might have missed the tension, but she had trained him in the Bene Gesserit Way-in the minutiae of observation. She turned, holding a semiformal jacket for him. It carried the red Atreides hawk crest above the breast pocket.
"Hurry and dress," she said. "Reverend Mother is waiting."
"I dreamed of her once," Paul said. "Who is she?"
"She was my teacher at the Bene Gesserit school. Now, she's the Emperor's Truthsayer. And Paul. . . ." She hesitated. "You must tell her about your dreams."
"I will. Is she the reason we got Arrakis?"
"We did not get Arrakis." Jessica flicked dust from a pair of trousers, hung them with the jacket on the dressing stand beside his bed. "Don't keep Reverend Mother waiting."
Paul sat up, hugged his knees. "What's a gom jabbar?"
Again, the training she had given him exposed her almost invisible hesitation, a nervous betrayal he felt as fear.
Jessica crossed to the window, flung wide the draperies, stared across the river orchards toward Mount Syubi. "You'll learn about . . . the gom jabbar soon enough," she said.
He heard the fear in her voice and wondered at it.
Jessica spoke without turning. "Reverend Mother is waiting in my morning room. Please hurry."
The Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam sat in a tapestried chair watching mother and son approach. Windows on each side of her overlooked the curving southern bend of the river and the green farmlands of the Atreides family holding, but the Reverend Mother ignored the view. She was feeling her age this morning, more than a little petulant. She blamed it on space travel and association with that abominable Spacing Guild and its secretive ways. But here was a mission that required personal attention from a Bene Gesserit-with-the-Sight. Even the Padishah Emperor’s Truthsayer couldn’t evade that responsibility when the duty call came.
Damn that Jessica! the Reverend Mother thought. If only she'd borne us a girl as she was ordered to do!
Jessica stopped three paces from the chair, dropped a small curtsy, a gentle flick of left hand along the line of her skirt. Paul gave the short bow his dancing master had taught-the one used "when in doubt of another's station."
The nuances of Paul's greeting were not lost on the Reverend Mother. She said: "He's a cautious one, Jessica."
Jessica's hand went to Paul's shoulder, tightened there. For a heartbeat, fear pulsed through her palm. Then she had herself under control. "Thus he has been taught, Your Reverence."
What does she fear? Paul wondered.
The old woman studied Paul in one gestalten flicker: face oval like Jessica's, but strong bones . . . hair: the Duke's black-black but with browline of the maternal grandfather who cannot be named, and that thin, disdainful nose; shape of directly staring green eyes: like the old Duke, the paternal grandfather who is dead.
Now, there was a man who appreciated the power of bravura-even in death, the Reverend Mother thought.
"Teaching is one thing," she said, "the basic ingredient is another. We shall see." The old eyes darted a hard glance at Jessica. "Leave us. I enjoin you to practice the meditation of peace."
Jessica took her hand from Paul's shoulder. "Your Reverence, I-"
"Jessica, you know it must be done."
Paul looked up at his mother, puzzled.
Jessica straightened. "Yes . . . of course."
Paul looked back at the Reverend Mother. Politeness and his mother's obvious awe of this old woman argued caution. Yet he felt an angry apprehension at the fear he sensed radiating from his mother.
"Paul. . . ." Jessica took a deep breath. ". . . this test you're about to receive . . . it's important to me."
"Test?" He looked up at her.
"Remember that you're a duke's son," Jessica said. She whirled and strode from the room in a dry swishing of skirt. The door closed solidly behind her.
Paul faced the old woman, holding anger in check. "Does one dismiss the Lady Jessica as though she were a serving wench?"
A smile flicked the corners of the wrinkled old mouth. "The Lady Jessica was my serving wench, lad, for fourteen years at school." She nodded. "And a good one, too. Now, you come here!"
The command whipped out at him. Paul found himself obeying before he could think about it. Using the Voice on me, he thought. He stopped at her gesture, standing beside her knees.
"See this?" she asked. From the folds of her gown, she lifted a green metal cube about fifteen centimeters on a side. She turned it and Paul saw that one side was open-black and oddly frightening. No light penetrated that open blackness.
"Put your right hand in the box," she said.
Fear shot through Paul. He started to back away, but the old woman said: "Is this how you obey your mother?"
He looked up into bird-bright eyes.
Slowly, feeling the compulsions and unable to inhibit them, Paul put his hand into the box. He felt first a sense of cold as the blackness closed around his hand, then slick metal against his fingers and a prickling as though his hand were asleep.
A predatory look filled the old woman's features. She lifted her right hand away from the box and poised the hand close to the side of Paul's neck. He saw a glint of metal there and started to turn toward it.
"Stop!" she snapped.
Using the Voice again! He swung his attention back to her face.
"I hold at your neck the gom jabbar," she said. "The gom jabbar, the high-handed enemy. It's a needle with a drop of poison on its tip. Ah-ah! Don't pull away or you'll feel that poison."
Paul tried to swallow in a dry throat. He could not take his attention from the seamed old face, the glistening eyes, the pale gums around silvery metal teeth that flashed as she spoke.
"A duke's son must know about poisons," she said. "It's the way of our times, eh? Musky, to be poisoned in your drink. Aumas, to be poisoned in your food. The quick ones and the slow ones and the ones in between. Here's a new one for you: the gom jabbar. It kills only animals."
Pride overcame Paul's fear. "You dare suggest a duke's son is an animal?" he demanded.
"Let us say I suggest you may be human," she said. "Steady! I warn you not to try jerking away. I am old, but my hand can drive this needle into your neck before you escape me."
"Who are you?" he whispered. "How did you trick my mother into leaving me alone with you? Are you from the Harkonnens?"
"The Harkonnens? Bless us, no! Now, be silent." A dry finger touched his neck and he stilled the involuntary urge to leap away.
"Good," she said. "You pass the first test. Now, here's the way of the rest of it: If you withdraw your hand from the box you die. This is the only rule. Keep your hand in the box and live. Withdraw it and die."
Paul took a deep breath to still his trembling. "If I call out there'll be servants on you in seconds and you'll die."
"Servants will not pass your mother who stands guard outside that door. Depend on it. Your mother survived this test. Now it's your turn. Be honored. We seldom administer this to men-children."
Curiosity reduced Paul's fear to a manageable level. He heard truth in the old woman's voice, no denying it. If his mother stood guard out there . . . if this were truly a test. . . . And whatever it was, he knew himself caught in it, trapped by that hand at his neck: the gom jabbar. He recalled the response from the Litany Against Fear as his mother had taught him out of the Bene Gesserit rite.
"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."
He felt calmness return, said: "Get on with it, old woman."
"Old woman!" she snapped. "You've courage, and that can't be denied. Well, we shall see, sirra." She bent close, lowered her voice almost to a whisper. "You will feel pain in this hand within the box. Pain. But! Withdraw the hand and I'll touch your neck with my gom jabbar-the death so swift it's like the fall of the headsman's axe. Withdraw your hand and the gom jabbar takes you. Understand?"
Product details
- ASIN : B004KA9UXO
- Publisher : Gateway (December 30, 2010)
- Publication date : December 30, 2010
- Language : English
- File size : 2732 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Not Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 897 pages
- Best Sellers Rank: #72,578 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #14 in Classic Science Fiction eBooks
- #169 in Science & Math (Kindle Store)
- #367 in Galactic Empire Science Fiction eBooks
- Customer Reviews:
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About the author
Frank Herbert (1920-86) was born in Tacoma, Washington and worked as a reporter and later editor of a number of West Coast newspapers before becoming a full-time writer. His first SF story was published in 1952 but he achieved fame more than ten years later with the publication in Analog of 'Dune World' and 'The Prophet of Dune' that were amalgamated in the novel Dune in 1965.
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Dune by Frank Herbert takes the reader through an adventure of extremes, from the water dominated cultures of the planet Caladan to the water-starved cultures of the planet Arrakis. The reader is subjected to politics, cultural extremes, ecology, religion, and some very psychedelic interpretations of time. However, the book can be a bit difficult to read as Herbert vigorously exercised his creative liberties and created quite a few words, and then never endeavors to explain these words. With its rich, vibrant worlds, developed characters, and engaging story, I am comfortable calling Dune a must read for anyone who enjoys the science fiction genre.
The Cover:
DuneI really like the cover of this book. The art is minimalistic, powerful, and attractive to the eye. Needless to say, I’m a big fan of simple, clean imagery. It’s difficult for me to say whether I would buy this book based upon the cover art alone or not, because I’ve had knowledge of Dune and it’s story since middle school, but I feel comfortable saying that the cover would have definitely piqued my interest.
The Bad:
1. Parts of the book seem needlessly wordy and slow. They are only a few of them, but they seem concentrated near the beginning of the book. This made getting into the story as the book began a bit difficult.
The Good:
1. Herbert does an excellent job creating and developing the Fremen culture and the dangerous, exotic world of Arrakis. From the first time you meet a Fremen, it is clear that their culture values water above all else, and that their reverence for water and the harsh environment in which they exist has trickled down to affect every facet of their existence.
The characters in the book are well developed and interesting, each of them with their own emotions, patterns of thought, and internal struggles. The Baron Harkonnen is deplorable and will drive you to hate him. Dr. Yueh will earn your ire, as well as your pity. I think Paul was my favorite example though, as he constantly struggles with his humanity and the awesome powers he gains over the course of the book. But even despite his awesome powers, and the god-like status he attains among the Fremen, Paul remains grounded and realistic in regards to who he is and what he can do.
2. The story is engaging, well paced, and thought provoking. I stayed interested over the course of the entire book, and rarely, if ever, found myself skipping over chunks of text. Herbert does a fantastic job spinning elements of politics, religion, and environmentalism seamlessly into the story.
3. I especially enjoyed the “realism” of the book. This isn’t a space opera filled with with laser gun fights, there are no warm fuzzies of a romantic nature to be found, and Paul is not a shining paragon of humanity. The book may have things of a fantastic nature, such as monstrously large worms, mind-enhancing drugs, and cult-like organizations filled with future-seeing women, but all of these things exist side by side with a gritty, realistic depiction of political strife, the consequences of power, and the human struggle to survive.
The Meh:
1. Herbert throws made up words and family names at you rapidly. It can quickly become frustrating, and sometimes even overwhelming to read. This is most frustrating to me when the word is needlessly made up. Kanly? It means vendetta. Richece? Minor houses and wealthy individuals. Both of these words were needlessly created and are never explained within the book.
Synopsis:
Paul’s father, the Duke Leto Atriedes, has been gifted the planet Arrakis by the Padishah Emperor. Normally this sort of gift would be seen as a great boon due to economic opportunities a planet such as Arrakis presents, but this gift is laced with danger, treachery, and subterfuge. Shortly after the House Atriedes relocates from the water-abundant world of Caladan to the arid desert world of Arrakis, the trap is sprung. The Baron Harkonnen, an old enemy of the House Atriedes, assaults Paul’s family. The attack leaves many people dead, the Atriedes claim to Arrakis all but destroyed, and forces Paul and his mother into the arms of the Fremen, who believe Paul to be the savior they have all awaited: the legendary Lisan al Gaib. Many secrets, and many answers lay in the desert, woven into Fremen culture and belief. Using his wits, years of rigorous training, and his new-found place within Fremen culture, Paul will undergo a transformation that is both symbolic and powerful. He will become something more than human, he will become the Kwisatz Haderach.
Forgive me but most of this review, all of it perhaps, will be unfiltered praise. This book means a lot to me; it has for a long time. And revisiting it, in light of all the exciting movie news with Denis Villeneuve, was more than a treat. I will refrain from summarizing the story; it's likely you know what it's about. If not, Goodreads has neatly summarized it better than I will.
The book, and the prose in general, holds up extremely well for having been written over fifty years ago. Admittedly the character thoughts and some dialogue is a little stiff in areas. But not so much so that it hindered my enjoyment in any way. Additionally I'm not used to omniscient narration; you just don't see it that often currently. I don't at least. So the POV hopping without chapter or line breaks took just a little getting used to. Having said that, I am so impressed by Herbert's expertise at moving his story using the art of conversation, and all its minutiae. This is especially true when Fremen are in conversation with non-natives, and the culture clash is on display.
If you hold it in your hand, what you hold is more than a mere science fiction novel. It breaks through those boundaries as a worm broaching the desert surface. This is a space-fantasy, and a heady mixture. The story is wrapped up as much in mysticism and religion as it is in technology; more so even. It is as concerned with ecological prediction and deep, flowing political undercurrents as it is with a well-written fight scene. It is the perfect mixture of odd-future strangeness, vast cosmic scope, and spiritual involvement that stitches the story up at the seams. Prophecy, and psychedelic consciousness-expansion through the addictive spice melange, are as much the heart of this story as laser guns and space ships. So much so that one wonders just how many mushrooms Frank Herbert was eating as he penned this thing in the 1960's. And I'm only kind of kidding.
Herbert, with this first story alone, never mind the sequels, displays an absolute mastery of world-building. He has just the right flavors of real-world inspiration and influence to make it all feel familiar; especially in the touches of Eastern influence, down to the broken remnants of Sanskrit appearing in the Fremen language. It all just feels so feasible. Like you're at once reading a manual of our distant future and texts of our ancient past. Meeting in the now. That ethereal, dream-like moment of present time. The now. It's clear I've been infected by the mood of the story. And beyond anything else, the story is itself is just so interesting. I found it hard to put down even for a moment. Even the epigraphs are worth a session of deep thought, and clearly lead the way for popular usage in things like Sanderson's Cosmere stories.
Dune influenced so much that followed it it's just undeniable. I can't help but draw parallels with the Wheel of Time, which I'm in the middle of. I drew comparisons with the Aiel/Fremen immediately when I started reading WoT, and that comparison is reinforced. As are other little things that hint at direct homage (Shaitan being the name for Satan in Dune, for example). I remember, all those years ago in Frogtown Books, the quote on the back that caught my eye. 'I know nothing comparable to it except the Lord of the Rings.' What higher praise? Here is a book that transformed the landscape of science fiction; just as it transformed, for me, what fiction can be.
Something like Dune is extremely hard to review for me, so forgive my love affair in the form of language. I just can't say enough good things. Dune shaped my reading life growing up, and now I remember why. I can do nothing more but urge you to read it.
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Reviewed in Canada on May 2, 2024