Travels in the Desert

Way back in high school, I read Dune for the first time.  It wasn’t Lord of the Rings good, but I can’t recall if it had a rival for second best book in that genre (maybe The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever.  Maybe.  Memory of my preference order when I was 17 fails me here.  (Well, except I do remember the girl I loved most when I was 17.  (Married her—presumably that helps my memory in that regard.))  As for Science Fiction or Fantasy (the distinction between those two genres is less than clean), Dune is obviously a classic.  And deservedly so.  I just reread it and, for the most part, I enjoyed it.  The writing is a bit painful at times, but on the whole a good story, well told.  But that is not the point of this here blog post.

The sequel problem is the matter of concern.  When I first read Dune, I went on to read the next two books in the series.  I remember enjoying Dune Messiah; lots of political intrigue.  I don’t think I made it through Children of Dune; maybe I did.  I didn’t even start God Emperor of Dune because I had a friend who said it was even duller than Children.

If I recall correctly, a few years later, I decided to revisit Dune.  I made it through the first two.  I think I finished Children of Dune.  (I may have the order of when I did and did not finish Children in these first two readings mixed up.)

Many years later (as I do accurately recall), I started anew.  I made it through the first four books.  I came away with the probably not terribly controversial conclusion:  The Dune series progressively got worse as each volume came out.  After that reading, I was convinced Herbert should have stopped with the first volume. 

Which brings us to this summer.  (And, Your Humble Narrator is well aware that the preceding account was dreadfully dull and pointless.  After all who cares about one person’s experience with reading Frank Herbert’s sprawling mess of sequels?  Rest Assured, Dear Reader, what follows is every bit as dull and pointless as the preceding.)  After returning to my Office of Yore from my Travels on the other side of the street (Literally.  My office last year was on the opposite side of the street from my normal office), I decided to clean one of my bookshelves, the one that has all sorts of random books which don’t really fit anywhere else.  In doing so, I noticed Heretics of Dune, the fifth book in the Dune series.  I’d never read it.  I got to wondering if I should read it or if I should ditch it.  I picked it up at a library book sale years ago, so it wasn't as if a lot of thought went into the purchase—it’s amazing how quickly my quality standard for purchases falls when the price of a book is fifty cents.  (It’s like there is a demand curve or something in the back of my mind.  Go figure.)  In pondering this most important decision, I turned to my reliable friend: Google.  Opinion splits on Heretics; some argue it returns the series to being good; some hate it.  No help there.  Then I figure: Why Not?  It’s summer.  There are six Dune books; I own the first five already, so why not just do this thing once and for all? 

I read Dune.  Half-way through, I was thinking, “This book is brilliant.”  By the end of the book, I was thinking, “Hmmm, gets a bit tedious after a while, but even still, a good book.”  I picked up Dune Messiah, remembering that I really liked it in high school.  It is the shortest of the Dune books.  I barely made it through,  Tedious.  I went to start Children of Dune.  And I picked up another book instead.

Now I am faced with a Crisis.  Do I just toss all my Dune sequels and vow never to be tempted again?  Do I just force myself through books 3-6 so that I can say, “I did it.”  Do I just put it all back on my shelf, knowing that I will repeat this exercise again in 20 years if I do so?  I honestly cannot solve this problem.  It’s been a month now in which I have been tortured by this decision.  And I am no closer to solving it now than I was then.  So, I began this post, hoping that by setting all this forth, in addition to undoubtedly boring the Reader to tears, I would know by the end what I should do.  It hasn’t helped.  So, in the end, the Reader is bored and I am as confused as ever.

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