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Dune is often considered a masterpiece of 20th-century American science fiction. In part, the book owes its reputation to the film adaptation David Lynch directed in the early 1980s (although this movie was, and still is, not considered one of his best). Frank Herbert wrote a novel of epic proportions, in other words, a space opera, with its intergalactic feudal society, its decadent (if not evil) empire and its band of rebels: the book was published some ten years before the first instalment of the Star Wars series. Indeed, along with Asimov’s (overrated) Foundation stories, it was George Lucas� primary source of inspiration.

One of the most exciting aspects of Herbert’s creation is the multi-cultural world he depicts. Each house (Atreides, Harkonnen, etc.), each planet (Arrakis, Giedi Prime, Caladan...), each group (the Fremen, the Bene Gesserit, the Guild, the Emperor’s suite and the Sardaukars) has its specific flavour, its own culture, its language � the comprehensive index at the end of the book is utterly fascinating. For each of these cultures, Herbert borrowed traits from traditions (ancient or contemporary) he knew well in reality, especially from the Middle East. In particular, Paul Atreides / Muad’Dib’s story among the Fremen is redolent of the historical events around T.E. Lawrence and the Arab revolt against the Ottoman Empire. And Paul’s crusade on Arrakis is told, as though it were ancient history, in the chronicles by the Princess Irulan at the start of each chapter.

Herbert describes his fictional world and characters in great detail, which contributes to the richness of his narrative, but I found these descriptions somewhat boring and, especially, the middle of the book is a bit dragging for that reason. In my view, the most impressive parts of this novel are the dialogues, where Herbert simultaneously reveals what the characters are saying and thinking. This technique lends a sense of duplicity and scheming to almost every interaction. Everyone is plotting one way or another so that the whole thing ends up being like a great Shakespearean play, with dialogues and asides, tyrants and pretenders. What confirms this impression is not only the theme of the exiled Duke (see As You Like It, King Lear, or The Tempest), but also the repeated scenes of fencing duels throughout, with feints and poisoned tips: a clear allusion to the endings of Hamlet and Macbeth, for instance.

Edit: A word about Denis Villeneuve’s new film adaptation of Herbert’s novel (part 1, 2021). Comparisons are odious and obviously wouldn’t be to David Lynch’s advantage. This is a Dune version for a new generation of fans and an epic movie on par with Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy, in the early 2000s. The settings (filmed in Scandinavia and the Middle East) are breathtaking, and the actors have so much going for them. But what strikes me the most in this new version is the sense that everything is overwhelming and sublime: the massive architecture, the crushing machines, the extreme weather conditions, the earth-shattering landscapes, the thunderous music, the tragic events, the repulsive foes. From the relenting waves of Caladan to the searing and unending skies of Arrakis, everything assumes an oceanic and staggering dimension.