The anti-George Lucas.

Frank Herbert, that is. His science fiction universe has come to embody everything that another seminal epic of our time, “Star Wars,” cannot: subtlety and mystery. “Children of Dune” is the third installment in the series and centers on the vicissitudes of a power struggle involving Paul Atreides’ sister and his children. This in a vacuum created by Muad’Dib since his disappearance into the desert at the end of the second novel, “Dune Messiah.”

Arrakis will ever be the story’s home, but the increasing excursions made to other worlds like Salusa Secundus and Tleilax whet our appetite for myriad unexplored corners of this galaxy. That is to say: Herbert’s universe is even larger than ever. He is the anti-Lucas because to experience the world of Dune is to live in the thought-bubbles of its characters, constantly reading one another’s expressions, trying desperately to interpret nonverbal cues of zen-like figures like mentats and Bene Gesserit “witches,” wherein plots and schemes and indignation (the silent kind) abound. Noticeably absent are staccato, declarative descriptions of landscape, weaponry, technology, conflict, combat, or physical features and their like. Conversation and thought are the rivulets that feed every facet of the “Dune” universe, and that universe seems even larger because of the vast expanses unmentioned.

Take, for example, the Lady Jessica’s travels to Salusa Secundus, a rare deviation from the political plotting and religious fervor of Arrakis. We are treated to none of the tired and typical expositions expected. We are not told how Salusa looks from space; what the travel involved to reach it; how many people live there; what differentiates its character from other worlds; its climate; its people; its proximity to Arrakis; its size; what city Jessica is in; we are not privy to innumerable things, rather getting to unpack it all under the auspices of our own imaginings. As a result, “Children of Dune” expands the Dune universe by an order of magnitude. I cannot help contradistinguishing this incredible style to the mundane plodding to which it might have easily fallen prey in more ordinary hands.

To say much of the plot of “Children of Dune” is to drain it of a beauty and mystery exclusive to your own mind’s eye. Its protagonists (admittedly not wholly protagonistic) are nine year-olds. They function with physical and mental prowess that could never be translated to the silver or small screens, and thus they belong entirely to you, to be made your own, as much as Arrakis and Salusa and Tleilax are yours. Herbert’s trust in Dune readers allows for something of the numinous.