Even the most Dune-averse person can hardly avoid the long tail of Herbert’s saga, whether they realize it or not. Or they would, if we hadn’t been steeped in Dune fever for so many years, even prior to the recent arrival of Denis Villeneuve’s extraordinary and resolutely abstruse film adaptation. The trappings of its imagined, distant-future world feel wondrous, unfamiliar, and strange. The 1965 novel, which eventually garnered widespread acclaim, was followed by a universe of sequels for its rabidly devoted fans. The world of Dune is a wild one, a tale spun by Frank Herbert in the tumultuous 1960s that mixes fear of authoritarian rule and environmental collapse with fascism, racism, and hallucinatory imagery. A spice harvested from an arid desert that enables space travel. A secretive all-women order of spies, nuns, scientists, and theologians that’s bending history to its will.
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