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3.77 AVERAGE
3.77 AVERAGE
adventurous
dark
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Love Herbert’s writing style and his trust in the intelligence of his readers. Definitely felt like a bridge book. Really sets up book three but feels so much smaller than book one.
The Saviour of Dune is completely different from the first episode. The book is significantly shorter and the plot is much slower. Herbert gets much more philosophical here and sometimes it's to his detriment, sometimes not at all. I completely understand that this one will appeal to far fewer people now. There is no action, it all takes place in a rather small space and in a short time frame compared to the first one. The plot here works mainly because of the built up characters from the first volume, although new ones are interesting as well.
The second part of the Arrakis saga is very different, for some in a good way and for some in a bad way. The world is still complex and fascinating, as are the characters, so believable that one's relationship with them is strengthened, and the reasonable length and pacing make this a work to be properly enjoyed.
The second part of the Arrakis saga is very different, for some in a good way and for some in a bad way. The world is still complex and fascinating, as are the characters, so believable that one's relationship with them is strengthened, and the reasonable length and pacing make this a work to be properly enjoyed.
Dune Messiah felt like a completely different kind of story than Dune. In the first book, we follow Paul as he’s coming into himself—absorbing his training, dealing with exile to Arrakis, mourning his father’s death, adapting to Fremen culture, navigating Bene Gesserit influence, and stepping into manhood. It’s a coming-of-age arc wrapped in prophecy and survival.
But in Messiah, the crown is already on his head—and it’s heavy. Paul is now Emperor, and every step he takes is haunted by the weight of power. He’s not fighting for survival anymore—he’s trying to live with what he’s already become.
And he’s surrounded. The Bene Gesserit, the Spacing Guild, the Tleilaxu—and even Irulan—are all conspiring in one way or another to control, manipulate, or remove him. He isn’t just navigating politics or enemies anymore. He’s navigating visions. Possible futures. Death. Myth.
He’s a man trapped between what is and what must be—and it’s not clear if there’s a way out.
What gives the book its emotional center, though, is Chani. Paul’s love for her isn’t just sentimental—it’s anchoring. She represents everything real in a world that’s become overly orchestrated. Her body, her choices, even her fertility are targeted by Irulan and the institutions seeking to control Paul’s legacy. And Paul knows this. He sees it. But because of what he sees in his visions, he lets it happen.
That’s the heartbreak: Paul has the power to act—but prophecy keeps him passive. His love is deep, but not enough to stop the machine he’s now a part of. And when Chani is lost, it’s not just a personal tragedy. It’s the price of empire, the cost of being a “messiah.”
Another powerful thread is the way Paul’s perception of the desert itself has changed. In Dune, the desert is a place of transformation—harsh, yes, but also sacred. It’s where he earns his name, where survival sharpens his mind and body, where he’s reborn in the Fremen mythos.
But in Messiah, we hear a different tone from him:
“Ugly, barren land.”
“In the desert, they were endlessly desert. Growing things performed no green ballet for them.”
Paul has evolved—he sees the limitations, the barrenness not just of the land, but of the unchanging Fremen worldview. They remain locked in their desert ethic, while Paul is being crushed by visions that span empires and centuries. What once felt like destiny now feels like stagnation.
He’s no longer awed by the dunes. He sees them clearly for what they are: a place that devours evolution in favor of tradition.
Water changes everything… and nothing.
But in Messiah, the crown is already on his head—and it’s heavy. Paul is now Emperor, and every step he takes is haunted by the weight of power. He’s not fighting for survival anymore—he’s trying to live with what he’s already become.
And he’s surrounded. The Bene Gesserit, the Spacing Guild, the Tleilaxu—and even Irulan—are all conspiring in one way or another to control, manipulate, or remove him. He isn’t just navigating politics or enemies anymore. He’s navigating visions. Possible futures. Death. Myth.
He’s a man trapped between what is and what must be—and it’s not clear if there’s a way out.
What gives the book its emotional center, though, is Chani. Paul’s love for her isn’t just sentimental—it’s anchoring. She represents everything real in a world that’s become overly orchestrated. Her body, her choices, even her fertility are targeted by Irulan and the institutions seeking to control Paul’s legacy. And Paul knows this. He sees it. But because of what he sees in his visions, he lets it happen.
That’s the heartbreak: Paul has the power to act—but prophecy keeps him passive. His love is deep, but not enough to stop the machine he’s now a part of. And when Chani is lost, it’s not just a personal tragedy. It’s the price of empire, the cost of being a “messiah.”
Another powerful thread is the way Paul’s perception of the desert itself has changed. In Dune, the desert is a place of transformation—harsh, yes, but also sacred. It’s where he earns his name, where survival sharpens his mind and body, where he’s reborn in the Fremen mythos.
But in Messiah, we hear a different tone from him:
“Ugly, barren land.”
“In the desert, they were endlessly desert. Growing things performed no green ballet for them.”
Paul has evolved—he sees the limitations, the barrenness not just of the land, but of the unchanging Fremen worldview. They remain locked in their desert ethic, while Paul is being crushed by visions that span empires and centuries. What once felt like destiny now feels like stagnation.
He’s no longer awed by the dunes. He sees them clearly for what they are: a place that devours evolution in favor of tradition.
Water changes everything… and nothing.
adventurous
challenging
mysterious
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
adventurous
challenging
dark
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Yes
A much smaller story than Dune, focused on Paul's reckoning with his legacy and what he has wrought in the universe. It has a few great scenes but doesn't match the grandeur of the first book in any way (and maybe it isn't supposed to).
I have to wonder how much of the "maybe a little incest would solve our problems?" part of the conspiracy against Paul will make it into the film adaptation.
I have to wonder how much of the "maybe a little incest would solve our problems?" part of the conspiracy against Paul will make it into the film adaptation.
adventurous
dark
emotional
mysterious
tense
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
adventurous
dark
emotional
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
challenging
mysterious
reflective
sad
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes