Dune, by Frank Herbert

Dune, by Frank Herbert, received the first-ever Nebula Award in 1966 and tied for the 1966 Hugo Award. It's one of those books that, for some inexplicable reason, I've avoided my entire life.

I'm not sure what started my anti-Dune bias, although it might have been an aborted attempt to read the National Lampoon parody before picking up the original. I avoided the 1984 film by David Lynch. I didn't even know there were two Dune-based TV miniseries, and I actually like TV miniseries (especially in the SciFi and Fantasy genres). I've read and enjoyed other books by Frank Herbert, but have actively avoided the Dune-i-verse.

In contrast to this, my husband's December 1981 (23rd printing) copy of Dune has been read so many times that chunks of pages have fallen out and only remain with the book because they're tucked carefully into their proper places. In his defense, the 80s were a terrible time for paperbacks--something about the glue; however, he's quick to admit that he revisited his copy of Dune before reading each new addition to the series.

As I read Dune, I wished it had been released as multiple smaller volumes. As I write this, I realize that if it had been published in any other form than the existing epic the world wouldn't ever have known the book at all. It's huge and rambling, but the three sections of the book build logically on each other. Had part 1 been published as a stand-alone novel, it would have vanished into the pile of 60s sci-fi and never been heard from again. The overall book, though long, is what captures the reader.

As an author, Frank Herbert rambles. Unlike some of the other rambling writers I've read for this project, he still manages to be a pretty easy read. He pulled from a vast number of cultures to create the world that his characters inhabit, and for me it never came through as a cohesive whole--each time he dropped a non-English word or cultural reference I mentally traced it back to its real-world source (or tried to), which slowed me down from time to time.

Have I become a Dune fanatic? No, but I'm planning to Netflix the film and mini-series, and will probably read more books in the Dune saga. My Dune-avoidance has officially come to an end. Hm. Guess you can teach an old dog new tricks! Rating: 4/5

The Wanderer, by Fritz Leiber

The Wanderer, by Fritz Leiber, was the 1965 recipient of the Hugo Award for best novel. If you'll recall, this was his second novel to win the prize (and I didn't like the first one, The Big Time, at all).

The Wanderer is set on Earth in the mid-1960s, and is a fairly standard natural disaster story. The natural disaster, in this case, is caused by unnatural means; however, for most of the book's characters this matters little or not at all as they deal with the repercussions on a small, localized scale. As in The Big Time, Leiber's characters are rather two-dimensional--we get snapshots of their personalities and how they react to the expanding global disaster, but for the most part they're described mainly in terms of the cliche they represent: hipster, druggie, scientist, astronaut, treasure-hunter, etc. (for the record, there are WAY too many characters to make this book an easy read). Leiber also continues to play with language in this book, which at times becomes a tad cumbersome. Occasionally, this word-play brings something unique to a scene, such as an 11th-hour sex scene described mostly in terms of the characters' surroundings.

Leiber name-drops several classic science fiction writers, including Heinlein, H.G. Wells, Arthur C. Clarke, E.R. Burroughs, and Doc Smith. Several of his characters work in snide critiques of the genre, which I enjoyed. "Science fiction is as trivial as all artistic forms that deal with phenomena rather than people" was one that seemed to be a statement against the all-action, no-character books that Leiber was trying hard not to write.

This book felt like the product of it's time, particularly the inhabitants of the Wanderer itself--"we Wild Ones, we Recalcitrants, we Untamed," whose government began to nibble at their freedoms millennia ago. They're the ultimate rebels, and like many fringe groups in the mid-60s, just want the government to leave them alone to do as they like. Interestingly, Leiber leaves the ultimate decision of whether they're the good guys or the bad guys up to the reader.

There were many things about this book that I found intriguing and fascinating, but in the end I felt that the general wordiness and the number of distinct character-threads made it difficult to read and follow. In my opinion it's better than many of the earlier Hugo winners, but it can't compete with most of the modern stuff I was reading at the same time. Rating: 3/5

Way Station, by Clifford D. Simak

Way Station, by Clifford D. Simak, received the Hugo Award for best novel in 1964. Simak is considered by many to be the pioneer of "realistic" science fiction, and was the 3rd author named as a Grand Master of the genre. As with many of the early Hugo-winning authors, this was the first work by Simak that I'd read.

Way Station includes many standard features of science fiction--aliens, high-tech gear, interstellar travel, futuristic weaponry, and interplanetary disputes--but does so with the best tools of the storyteller's craft. It has more in common with last year's film The Visitor (a bittersweet character piece starring Richard Jenkins) than with summer sci-fi bl0ckbusters like Independence Day. Although each has its place in the genre, I'm finding that I appreciate the quieter and more thoughtful stories much more than the overblown whiz-bangers these days.

The main character, Enoch Wallace, is a man with one foot in each of two worlds. He is set apart from humanity, both by his situation and his own choices, but isn't fully a part of the world he has come to know through his role as keeper of an interstellar way station. Both of these worlds are heading toward what appears to be unavoidable war, and Enoch is forced by his circumstances to decide where his loyalties lie.

Although this book was written, and is set, in the early 1960s it has aged well. There's not much about the book, its characters, or its technologies that would be jarring or read as archaic to today's reader. It's a snapshot of a life, and a story about the effect one life can have on a race or a universe. I'm looking forward to reading Simak's other award winners as this project continues. Rating: 4/5

The Man in the High Castle, by Philip K. Dick

The Man in the High Castle, by Philip K. Dick, won the 1963 Hugo Award for Best Novel. This was my first reading of the book, although I've read one other novel by this author and several of his short stories.

I'm much more familiar with PKD's worlds and themes from the movie adaptations of his writing than from his books themselves. Blade Runner & Total Recall certainly top my list of favorite PKD adaptations, and I enjoy them primarily for their worlds, themes, and convoluted plot lines. The Man in the High Castle fits in well with these, and I'd love to see it on screen.

The book is set in 1962, in an alternate San Francisco. Following an extended World War II, the victors--Japan and Nazi Germany--divided and dominated the rest of the world. "Nazis eliminated the Jews, Gypsies, and Bible Students," then headed out to conquer space. Japan created a global empire based in the Home Islands and dominated by metaphor, Taoism, and the I Ching.

Once you get past the alternate history concept, there aren't many typical sci-fi elements to this book. It's a story about culture, racism, fear, caste, indecision, freedom, power, paranoia, and politics. That said, it's a twisty, well-written depiction of what our world could have looked like if things had taken a few different turns.

I enjoyed PKD's use of language to reinforce character, particularly that of the characters in the Japanese-dominated Pacific States of America. In the PSA, even the non-Japanese characters speak and think in ESL-style English. Articles like "a" and "the" are almost non-existent, and non-action verbs such as "was" and "is" get dropped most of the time.

The Man in the High Castle is a character piece, and a good one. Its intertwined story lines and character arcs are interesting and unique, and the world is plausible and consistent. I suspect that a re-reading of this book would reveal layers that I missed the first time, but for now I'm hoping to find something a little less political! Rating: 4/5

Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A. Heinlein

Stranger in a Strange Land, by Robert A. Heinlein, was published in 1961 and won the 8th Hugo Award. Heinlein is one of my favorite authors, and I've read this book several times over the years. For this project, I read the originally published, shorter version of the book. Opinions, reviews, and summaries of this book abound, so I'll keep mine short.

Things I love about this book:

• The concept that humans are ultimately self-serving creatures, none of whom do anything they don't want to do for some reason of their own
• There are some laugh-out-loud lines as the title character learns about human civilization, such as "I have learned two ways to tie my shoes. One way is only good for lying down. The other way is good for walking."
• Most of the book consists of dialogue, and most of the characters are just as smart and interesting as Heinlein himself
  
• The "Fosterite" church, if it actually existed, would probably do very well in modern western civilization with its combination religion/bar/casino structure
• Early in part 3 of the book, Heinlein lays out a sensible system for sorting fan mail; using it would probably benefit any celebrity
• Heinlein tempers his typical chauvinism by making most of the female characters very smart, and putting them in charge (whether the male characters admit it or not)
• The overall message of the book is hopeful and positive
  

Things I don't love about this book:

• Telepathy, when used to demonstrate the superiority of a character or race, has been overused and is losing any power to amaze that it might once have had
• The church created by the title character seems overly idealistic, even taken in context; I loved the ideas as a twenty-something, but now that I'm a suburbanite mom I see it a bit differently
  

I still like this book a lot, if a bit less than I used to. Rating: 4/5

Spinning in Circles

Despite a trip to Texas for Spring Break, a trip to Kansas for a funeral, and many other distractions (including -Peder's entertaining and frustrating photo contest) I've finished reading Stranger in a Strange Land. My name came up on the library wait-list for Watchmen, also during this span, so I grabbed the opportunity to reread it as well. I'm thinking very hard about my SiaSL post, and will try hard to get back onto this project... right after I finish tracking down photos 6 & 7 for -Peder's game! Darn you, -Peder!

A Canticle for Leibowitz, by Walter M. Miller, Jr.

A Canticle for Leibowitz, by Walter M. Miller, Jr., was published in 1960 and was the winner of the 7th Hugo Award. The book consists of three distinct sections: "Fiat Homo" is set in the mid-2500s, "Fiat Lux" begins in the year 3174, and "Fiat Voluntas Tua" begins in 3781. The stories take place in North American Earth, but in a world that was first devastated by nuclear holocaust in the mid 1960s and then stripped of its remaining documents, books, and scholars in a global Age of Simplification, leaving the Catholic Church as the dominant world power.

The book's technology ranges with its time period, from candle flames to spaceships, and every stage in between. The few pieces of technology and documentation that are salvaged and protected by the Order of Saint Leibowitz, along with the eventual reinvention and rediscovery of the natural sciences, allow the post-apocalyptic world to slowly rebuild itself from rubble to riches.

Most of the book's characters are members of the Catholic Church, or politicians; as a result, much of the book involves political and religious discussions and debates. There's a lot of Latin, and many references to the Bible; those unfamiliar with either will do a lot of cross-referencing or just miss a lot of the book's levels of meaning.

The author has a clever way with words, and describes things in unusual and often entertaining ways that create vivid mental pictures. Each section of the book is written in a specific style, each is different, and each presents its own challenges. I enjoyed the first section tremendously, but bogged down slightly in the scriptural and political styles of much of the 2nd and 3rd sections. Still great writing, but slow going at times.

I first encountered this book in January of 1986, while I was in 10th grade. An amazing school librarian took it upon herself to expand my already broad literary horizons, and proclaimed this a must-read. For whatever reason, I disliked it immediately and promptly returned it to the library. Coincidentally, some students were there watching the Challenger launch; I stopped to watch the launch, book in hand, and the book's cover art has since been inextricably linked in my mind with the image of the explosion. If not for this project, I wouldn't have revisited A Canticle for Leibowitz.

I'm glad I did. The final scene is hopeful, which is a nice foil to my previous memory of the book. I'm not likely to read this one again, and unlike many people out there, I don't consider it to be the best book in the genre; however, it's a well-written, thought-provoking, original story that I enjoyed reading. Rating: 3/5