“You’re in for a good time,” the guy at the till told me. He was excited for me. Why?
It was around 2017. I’d wandered into Waterstones for a cheeky book and picked up something with a pretty cover. I’d never heard of Dune or its infamy. After that glowing recommendation, I was buzzing to dive in.
I hated it.
It was dull. It was long. Everyone talked too much. There were words I didn’t understand and places I couldn’t picture. I wasn’t opposed to speculative fiction. I was a LOTR girl, I played D&D, I was a proud nerd. Still… nope. Couldn’t stand it.
It wasn’t until 2021 that I gave Dune another shot, admittedly because of the film. Blame Grimes.
My fangirling knew no bounds. She was hyped about Jessica and the Bene Gesserit, gushing over the Fremen outfits, dropping tweets like this gem:
The marketing, the costumes, the music… it all felt cool in that elitist, intellectual way. Watching from the sidelines, I was annoyed I didn’t “get it.” I promised myself I’d try again someday.
Round 2- trying Dune again.
I picked a strange time. It was 2023, I was postpartum, and even reading short books felt impossible. Maybe choosing something I’d already failed at gave me permission to fail again, to dismiss it as overly complicated sci-fi trash.
I was wrong.
Turns out, overly complicated sci-fi trash was exactly what I craved. Pure escapism: a universe away from nappies and parenting blogs. It had nothing to do with real life and that was the point.
But while it didn’t mirror my day-to-day, it did cover politics and religion in a way I could finally grasp in my 30s.
Here’s the gist:
Dune is basically space nobility fighting over a desert planet that produces “spice”, a drug that fuels interstellar travel and mystical visions. Paul Atreides, the reluctant heir, gets thrown into betrayal, sandworms, and prophecy, slowly realising he might be the messiah figure everyone’s whispering about.
I got it, and that opened the whole world to me.
Spice might as well have been oil. The Landsraad was the global economy. Herbert draped European feudalism over an Arabic-inspired world, merging religions and stretching the human mind. And yes, the worms (part metaphor, part cool plot device) were the icing on top.
I read Dune. Then the follow up- Dune Messiah. Onto Children of Dune. God Emperor of Dune. Heretics of Dune. Chapterhouse: Dune.
Want to suffer (or enjoy) the same fate? The full six-book set is here Dune 6 book mega set– yes, it’s an affiliate link, no, it won’t pay for more than a magazine or two.
One after the other I demolished them, outstripping my sci-fi loving husband’s progress in the series. It was the longest series I had read in many years and was proud of myself for doing so.
What to read after the original 6 Dune books?
I thought finishing the original six would be enough. But curiosity got the better of me, and I found myself diving into the Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson prequels. And here’s the thing: a lot of hardcore fans slate them but I loved them.
Why? Because they felt sharper for the world I’m living in now. The Butlerian Jihad era, where humanity turns against thinking machines, suddenly reads like a warning. AI vs. humanity, women with more agency being targeted by the men around them, power reshaped by technology… it all hit differently in 2025.
Herbert’s originals gave me politics, ecology, and religion. The prequels gave me tech anxiety, transhumanism, and AI… the very conversations we’re all having online right now. In a strange way, they felt more relevant to my present than the so-called “canon.”
Quick Instagram break! Follow me for these vibes:
Where I’m at in my Dune Journey
The Dune universe is vast and there are a lot of books. I decided to tackle them in chronological order rather than release order (this list on Pango Books was a lifesaver).
So far, I’ve finished the Butlerian Jihad trilogy and I’d recommend these to anyone who’s never touched Dune but is fascinated by technology and AI. From there, I worked through Sisterhood of Dune (the founding of the Bene Gesserit), Mentats of Dune, and Navigators of Dune (the origins of the Space Guild and, surprisingly, the most feminist of the series). Right now I’m ploughing through the House books- House Atreides, House Harkonnen, and House Corrino.
That’s nearly 15 books in, and it’s taken me a year. I’m proud enough to show off my Kindle stats.
And the wildest part? The deeper I went, the more I realised the prequels and the originals speak to different anxieties.
Then and Now; what is the major difference between the Dune originals and the prequels?
Herbert’s originals gave me politics, ecology, and religion, themes that still echo today. But the Brian Herbert/Kevin J. Anderson prequels pushed me into something else entirely. They centre on humans versus machines, a population enslaved to an AI mind. Omnius, the AI, has synchronised planet after planet, aided by the “Titans” (humans who implanted their brains into machines for immortality). What follows is the rise of a religious empire that uses faith to fight machine dominance: a holy war, a jihad.
Considering our daily reliance on smartphones, Alexa, and ChatGPT, it doesn’t feel that far-fetched that Earth could stumble toward its own kind of “synchrony.” That’s why these prequels stand out to me. They examine our priorities and values in ways other series don’t, perhaps because they lean into the full silliness of space opera rather than cynically mirroring our current global mess.
The importance of the Second Draft: Dune edition
The first time I picked up Dune, I gave up. The second time, it clicked. And now, with the prequels, it feels eerily relevant. Herbert’s originals showed me politics, ecology, and religion; the newer books handed me AI fears, transhumanism, and questions about what it means to stay human. That’s the beauty of a second draft: sometimes the story hasn’t changed, but you have. Suddenly, the sandworms and space opera feel like the most 2025 thing you could be reading.
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