One must begin with the confession that for about five years now, one has been pleading with everyone who would listen, urging them to read Frank Herbert’s Dune series.
“Just till the fourth book,” went the usual plea.
It was thus surprising, both to others and to oneself, that after the euphoria of the recent blockbuster adaptation of Dune wore off, one found themselves dismayed at how it was received by most audiences.
The usual reaction, it seemed, was either indignation at Dune’s alleged “appropriation” of Arab culture or denunciations of the main character (Paul Atreides) as a “White Savior” avatar.
Sprinkled like spice through these were the masses of people who came out of theaters idealizing and lionizing Paul Atreides. The irony of that, as one hopes the reader would come to see, was positively electric.
The Legacy of Dune
Though it was part of sociology, politics, and philosophy courses at some universities, by and large, Dune flew under the average person’s sci-fi radar until the latest films came out. The previous attempts at adapting Dune for cinema were either too ambitious (Jodorowsky’s adaptation is the “best film that was never made”) or heavily criticized for failing to portray the imagery and spirit of the book (the 1984 adaptation springs to mind).
The current set of films (announced to be a trilogy) covers the first two books: Dune and Dune: Messiah.
The old adage goes that history doesn’t repeat, but it often rhymes. It appears that we are circling around the gullet of the same pattern. The audiences who criticized Dune for the reasons mentioned above missed the point, just as readers missed the point with Herbert’s first book. His second work aimed at clarifying the major themes of the first book. Audiences going into the next Dune film, based on Dune Messiah, are in for a rude awakening.
Paul Atreides is not a White Savior. He is not appropriating a native (vaguely Arabesque) culture. Nor is he ‘Gloria Regali’ made manifest. Herbert’s body of work delves deep into the interplay of biology, sociology, religion, culture, corruption, economics, philosophy, sexuality, and, most of all, the dangers of power. Embedded into a narrative of Great Houses and “Padishah” Emperors, Dune is, above all, a tragedy and a romance.
The Tragedy of Paul Atreides
The first two books deal with the fall, rise, and then final collapse of Paul Atreides—a scion of a Great House. Thrown into the whirlwind of feudal imperial politics, Paul must navigate a minefield of duty, obligation, morality, love, and expediency. His story takes him from a written-off casualty of war to religious figurehead, all the way to Emperor and, subsequently, to the mantle of a divine leader.
The story of his fall encompasses his inner conflict; he knows he is no true Messiah, and yet he has adorned himself in the mystique of divinity and legend. Billions have died because of his actions.
Events are set into motion through his actions that threaten to doom humanity or doom his family. Paul chooses to defend his family, ultimately leading to the tragic loss of his companion and his “death.”
The Children of Dune
The next two books, Children of Dune and God Emperor of Dune, wrap up the Atreides story and tie up Frank Herbert’s vision into a full package.
Children of Dune follows the orphaned twins of Paul, Ghanima and Leto II. Both children inherit great power, both corporeal, mental, and metaphysical, from their father. They too are thrown into a rat’s nest of complicated political intrigue, though their era is defined by flux—a ceaseless, almost rampant change in the fabric of their society, in the ecology of their planet, and in their own hearts.
The third book ends with aunticide, an ascension to power, a marriage, and the young Leto sacrificing his humanity for what he calls the “Golden Path.” He covers himself in alien lifeforms, allowing a metamorphosis to take place within his body. His transformation grants him immense power and renders him functionally immortal, but it causes him great physical pain. It slowly eats away at his human form, rendering water itself poisonous to him. Though he weeps for himself at his sister’s feet, even begging for death, he maintains the aura of divinity to his subjects.
The God Emperor
God Emperor, purposefully evocative of the ancient Pharaohs, opens 3,500 years after Children of Dune. The universe is unrecognizable. Leto II has managed to oppress and subjugate humanity to the extent that he has been able to rapidly weed out qualities he deems harmful from the very biology of human beings. He sees himself as the greatest predator in history. His predation involves pretense, lies, war, violence, and ultimately his own power.
His “Golden Path” has seen him remove from men the impulse for wanton destruction, from women their relative physical weakness, and from both their base inclinations for war. His plan has suppressed humanity to such an extent that all major monopolies are centered around his person. And though “Leto’s Peace” reigns throughout the (now multi-galactic) Imperium, rebellion simmers under the surface.
Leto knows he must die. His death becomes the catalyst for humanity’s final metamorphosis, where all centralized power and monopolies would be rendered moot. It is at this time that he falls deeply in love with Hwi Noree, an ambassador in his capital city. Their conversations and interactions, in the author’s opinion, form perhaps the single most impactful romance written in the 20th century.
The Tragedy of Leto II
It is more tragedy than romance, however, as both are torn body and soul by terrible purpose. Ultimately, the God Emperor falls. His death leaves humanity suddenly unshackled. He knows he will be cursed as a Tyrant and as Satan made manifest, but his life has been spent in service of a greater good. He dies believing he “will be innocent again.”
Conclusion
Given such a vast body of work and all the themes in between, it is no surprise, therefore, that the books remain the best version of the universe there will ever be. But the best on-screen adaptation is the 2000 Syfy Channel adaptation.