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June 16, 1985, Section 7, Page 18Buy Reprints
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First, a confession. Although I am a great admirer of Frank Herbert's Dune saga, I approached the most recent installment with some trepidation. Fearful that Mr. Herbert could not sustain the narrative excitement indefinitely, I dreaded having to inform the legions of Herbert fans that the inevitable decline had set in. I am happy to report that the sixth Dune novel, CHAPTERHOUSE: DUNE (Putnam, $17.95), is a worthy addition to this durable and deservedly popular series.

Once again, Mr. Herbert gives center stage to the Bene Gesserit, the far-seeing Sisterhood determined to save humankind from itself. Once again, the Bene Gesserit ''witches'' are locked in combat with the terrible Honored Matres. Once again, space navies clash (mostly offstage) while the fate of the galaxy depends on the courage of a few individuals whose thoughts and feelings are laid bare in Mr. Herbert's convoluted but always compelling prose. What's new this time is the emphasis on sexual pleasure as a lever of power. Against all odds, the universe of Dune keeps getting richer in texture, more challenging in its moral dilemmas. The only way to appreciate Mr. Herbert's achievement is to start with the first book and work your way through, so that when one character says, ''I love you too much, Murbella. That's my Agony,'' you will get the full, shuddery import of that capital A. THE GLAMOUR by Christopher Priest (Doubleday, $15.95) is, as you might guess from the spelling of the title, science fiction in the English manner, with the emphasis on mood and character rather than gadgetry. I found the basic premise intriguing. What if some people were so self-effacing, so unwilling to impose themselves on their fellows and their surroundings that they became literally impossible to see? It turns out that ''glamour'' is a rather ironical name for the quality of mind that makes people invisible. Although they can go anywhere and take whatever they want without being observed, the ''glamourous'' are so self-effacing that they end up not wanting anything.

This makes good psychological sense but it leaves an emptiness at the core of the book that Mr. Priest's ingenious shuffling of narrative voices and points of view cannot disguise. The best scenes tell of the desperate self-deceptions which allow the parents of the ''glamourous'' to deny the evidence (or non-evidence) of their senses.

In the 1970's, a number of well-received stories appeared under the name James Tiptree Jr. It was revealed in 1977 that this was a pseudonym of Alice B. Sheldon, a research psychologist who had worked in the American intelligence community for many years. BRIGHTNESS FALLS FROM THE AIR (Tor, $14.95) is a new Tiptree novel; neither the jacket nor the title page mentions the author's real name. The setting is the planet Damiem, whose gentle, winged inhabitants have the misfortune to secrete, at moments of intense feeling, substances that give human beings a druglike euphoria. Exploited in the past by human gangsters, the Dameii are now under the protection of dedicated human Guardians. The novel explains what happens when that protection breaks down.

In order to follow the narrative, the reader must be introduced to a large number of facts and a large cast of characters, human and nonhuman. Once this is accomplished, in a leisurely opening section, the pace picks up. The core of the narrative is a nonstop scene of terror that pits interspecies empathy against greed and sadism, and plays astonishing yet persuasive tricks with time. The last third of the book provides emotional decompression and clarifies what has gone before. I wish the author had found a more economical way to present the material in the opening and closing chapters, but plodding through them is a small price to pay for the extraordinary experience of the middle scene.

Intense is the word for Orson Scott Card's ENDER'S GAME (Tor, $13.95). Aliens have attacked Earth twice and almost destroyed the human species. To make sure humans win the next encounter, the world government has taken to breeding military geniuses - and then training them in the arts of war from the time they are 6 years old. The early training, not surprisingly, takes the form of ''games,'' both physical and computer-assisted. Ender Wiggin is a genius among geniuses; he wins all the games. At the age of 10 he is assigned to Command School. He is smart enough to know that time is running out. But is he smart enough to save the planet?

I am aware that this sounds like the synopsis of a grade Z, made-for-television, science-fiction-rip-off movie. But Mr. Card has shaped this unpromising material into an affecting novel full of surprises that seem inevitable once they are explained. The key, of course, is Ender Wiggin himself. Mr. Card never makes the mistake of patronizing or sentimentalizing his hero. Alternately likable and insufferable, he is a convincing little Napoleon in short pants.