Chapterhouse: Dune

Frank Herbert’s books are mind opening. If your mind is prepared to be opened.

I approached Chapterhouse: Dune with dread. The kind which comes on the last day of your vacation as good times become a thing of the past and you have to harden yourself to get back into the turmoils of life. In the end, I am glad that I read the book at this particular point in my life. I connected with the author, Frank Herbert, in a way that transcended textual communication. Him, passing his own revelation through the thoughts of a Reverend Mother. Me, gobbling up the knowledge like a thirsty Gene Besserit acolyte. I am simply amazed by how my recent discoveries followed closely in line with his.

I rejoiced at the concept of naivete. The word punctured some of the still muddy ideas that were still brewing in my mind, giving clarity to my otherwise stunted mental maturity. To see clearly is to see with a child’s naivete and innocence (And this guy is no longer amongst the living).

At the moment, I am hesitant to finish the last two books of the series because they are written by his son using his notes. I’ve read some of Brian Herbert’s prequels of Dune and find it very different from Frank’s writing. Still exciting, but not as mind boggling.

I want to see what Frank sees, but that chance is forever lost. I can only pretend.