Dune: the Jacqui's Room Notes

In which I make my neighbors wonder what the heck is going on in my sandbox.

At some point, I will draw an intelligent and incisive parallel between the sowing of prophesies in Dune, the 2008 presidential election, and our work as writers. But for now, I bring you:

DUNE, by Frank Herbert*
Synopsisized in a conversation between the narrator and the son of Duke Leto of the Atreides, some photos, and one video clip.

Thousands of years into the future, humans have scattered across the galaxy, inhabiting every planet, even those that seem to present insurmountable environmental limitations. The planet Arrakis has never seen rain. Moisture is so precious that people wear suits carefully designed to recycle the body's own waste water into drinkable form and --

I'm sorry? My suit is going to do what to what? Oh. Huh. Go on.

Into drinkable form, and they carry the tools necessary to extract the 70% water left over in the weight of a dead man. In --

Okay, that is just nasty. Seriously, Dad, are we really going there? Okay, okay.

Inhospitable to humans and patrolled by gigantic toothed worms that digest anything they can find, --

Hee hee. Giant worms. Oh crap! That thing just ate a plane! My bad.

Anything they can find, Arrakis should by all rights be uninhabited and unwanted. But it holds Spice. The highly --

Does that make those maidens the Spice Girls? If you wanna be my lover...

Do you mind?

Sorry.

The highly addictive cinnamon-like spice turns blue the eyes of the native Fremen of the planet and traps all who visit Arrakis in its spicy clutches.

That sentence made no sense.

I am a science fiction narrator; I don't have to make any sense. If you knew more about our world you'd get it already. Just nod knowingly; that's what everyone else in the book does.

(nods knowingly)

Many battle for control of Arrakis and the spice. But who will rule in the end?
The Emperor?

The Duke? The Baron?









Paul?

Me?!

The son of the Duke and the result of some mysterious inbreeding project lead by the Reverend Mother and her coven of mind-reading, butt-kicking mystics.

It will be me! I have drunk the bile of the giant worm and I see it now! I am the messiah, but this is science fiction, so I can't just say "messiah" I have to have difficult-to-pronounce, vaguely-Hebrew-sounding invented words for everything and put them all in a glossary at the back of the book. Anyhoot, I am the Kwisatz Haderach and I can see the past, present, future, the workings of blood cells, and inside your minds, all of you! Also, I can do a whole lot of other stuff you can't! Do you know the prophesy?

(nods knowingly)

I shall lead this planet to freedom with my princess wife-in-name-only (who will someday write my biography in clunky tongue and italicized chapter headings) and my beloved concubine.

It's him! It's him!

Come! Let us fulfill the destiny!


And that, my friends, concludes the 15 Classics in 15 Weeks Remedial Lit Summer Project. Full wrap up as soon as I can breathe tomorrow.

* I've gotten many strange looks from people wondering how I came up with Dune as my last classic for the summer. Here's how it went:

1. I asked people for help choosing the last classic.
2. Someone very wisely pointing out the total neglect of science fiction on my lists (and my literary history) and made a few suggestions.
3. I got to thinking about how annoyed I get when people are snotty about "children's lit" as a genre.
4. I decided I'd better check out some science fiction.
5. I carefully chose from amongst several options using a detailed algorithm designed to round-out my summer literary experience they only had Dune at my local indie bookstore the day I went.