Frank Herbert is something else. While reading this book my mind is drawn and quartered a thousand times. It is pushed and pulled this way and that. I am like a child grasping for meaning, knowing it is there but just out of reach. On the edge of understanding, I sit, in awe of what might be on the other side. Comprehension, just out of reach and yet in the back of my mind, it has been there the whole time. The words are new but they make sense, like some dream that tries to incorporate elements that seem, at first, to be disconnected, only to discover later, maybe after a day or two of contemplation, that the meaning was there amidst the confusion. Then, he brings you back. Frank Herbert, the man that sent you down the rabbit hole is there holding your hand and makes everything clear.