"I could die for you. But I couldn't, and wouldn't, live for you."
Russian-American novelist Ayn Rand had manuscripts for The Fountainhead, what was to become her most famous work, rejected by numerous publishers for being overly intellectual.
After having read around 300 pages of the 700+ that make up the novel, I was beginning to understand why it was labelled as such: I admit that this epic tale of architects, artists, journalists and businessmen within the corrupt, political world of the New York's aristocracy almost defeated me. The theorising and professing of a barbaric set of values is somewhat irritating.
I needed a break from it all. In fact, I could barely look at it for a while.
However, the characterisation of the novel's protagonist, architect Howard Roark, perhaps the most intriguing and surprising construct that I have ever encountered, and a solitary, twisted glow in the darkness of Rand's fictional world, lured me into returning.
And I am absolutely glad I did.
In addition to the disturbingly brilliant Roark, characters such as the intense Dominique Francon, the symbolic Peter Keating, the brutal Gail Wynand and the infuriating Ellsworth Toohey (whose idiotic name even begins to grate on the reader after a while) inhabit the murky, violent world generated by explicit greed and materialistic values.
It makes for a truly incredible work of art on Rand's behalf. Although I strongly disagree with the author's capitalist beliefs, The Fountainhead is one of the finest works of literature in existence. To read it is an intense and overwhelming experience, and can understandably leave one with a feeling of discomfort that naturally emerges from spending hours in the company of greedy, selfish and downright terrible characters.
But do pursue with this unique narrative - it is absolutely worth it.
The brilliance of some novels can have you hooked; the gripping repulsiveness of The Fountainhead, on the other hand, has you downright addicted.
Alex.
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