The Fountainhead: Gail Wynand: 7

Having gotten her Reno divorce, Dominique returns to New York. Wynand meets her at the train station and is ready to go to the judge. Dominique says no; they need to have a big wedding, as befits the great Gail Wynand. After a moment he says OK, that'll take a week to set up; I'll put you up at the hotel of your choice.

And sure enough the wedding takes place, in a big hotel ballroom. The bride wears black. After the ceremony Dominique is surprised to learn the Wynand papers have been banned from covering the wedding. She decides that's a good thing and thanks Wynand.

In his penthouse bedroom that night, she starts to put on her frigid act. Wynand says, "It won't do, Dominique," and she loosens up.

At the Banner a few days later, Scarret and Toohey confer. The paper has received thousands of letters protesting Wynand's wedding. How dare he marry a divorced woman! How dare they not get married in a church! This could be the beginning of a bad trend.

Scarret asks Toohey why he writes on occasion for a lefty magazine, New Frontiers. Rumor has it that Toohey arranged financing for the magazine, which Toohey confirms. Hmm. Then Toohey reveals that he has arranged for Mitchell Layton to buy a large share of the Banner. (How does one make such arrangements?) Layton is kind of a flaky leftist radical.

Wynand doesn't know about this. He's not as watchful of his syndicate as he used to be.

I guess this is going somewhere.

Two chapters to go in Part 3.

The Fountainhead: Gail Wynand: 6

The Council of American Writers has just watched the performance of a play having something to do with muskrats. Everyone agrees the play is putrid, except for the critic Jules Fougler, who calls it a great play. Anyone can praise a good play, but it takes something special to take something that smells and turn it into a hit.

And this isn't the first instance of garbage being sold to the public as great art. Toohey had puffed The Gallant Gallstone, as well as a more recent travel book, and both were received well by the public, despite being terrible.

Keating arrives after the performance and is told that he has missed a great work, provided that he isn't a literal-minded person with limited imagination.

Toohey writes a column in praise of modern architecture, even the work of Henry Cameron, which has come to be appreciated of late. The column is painful to read, as usual.

Keating feels exhausted just thinking of the scope of the Stoneridge project. He turns the job over to two colleagues. One of the colleagues, Cornelius Dumont, becomes a partner of the firm when Guy Francon retires.

The Fountainhead: Gail Wynand: 5

Keating hesitates momentarily, but he agrees to the divorce when assured he will get the Stoneridge commission. On top of that, Wynand gives him a check for $250,000. That had to be significant money in those days.

Before heading west, Dominique visits Mallory, who, unprompted, brings her up to date on Roark's activities. Currently the Übermensch is working as architect of a department store in Clayton, Ohio.

Keating feels lousy about himself. He drops in on Toohey and gives the man a check for $10,000 for the charity of his choosing. He tells Toohey about Dominique leaving him to marry Wynand. This is alarming news.

Toohey has lunch with Scarret. They agree that both Dominique and Wynand are dangerous. Putting them together makes dangerous squared. Shiver. There's probably no way to stop the marriage, but Toohey and Scarret need to work together. Toohey asks Scarret to demonstrate their solidarity by firing Jimmy Kearns, a smart, independent-minded drama critic for the Banner, and replace him with Jules Fougler, well-known but expensive.

Scarret talks to Wynand about the planned marriage to Dominique. She will be a divorcee! What a scandal! Wynand is unmoved. He issues instructions that none of the papers in the Wynand chain shall ever publish any story or picture featuring Dominique, other than a brief announcement of Wynand's wedding.

Dominique has subconsciously chosen a train route from New York to Reno that includes a stop in Clayton, Ohio. When she hears the station announced, she gets out, and she seeks out Roark's department store construction site. At the site, she encounters Roark, and they bring one another up to date. Dominique asks if she can stay the night; he refuses. She asks him to give up architecture and marry her. As kindly as he can manage, he declines and tells her to marry Wynand (even though this is, from Roark's perspective, an even worse match than Keating, due to the implacable dedication to mediocrity of the Wynand papers). Roark then escorts Dominique back to the train station, where she boards a train heading west.

What's to Eat?

For fun I thought I would take inventory of all the eating places within easy walking distance—three blocks or so—of where I live. It turns out to be quite a list:

Adam's: Halal Meat - Grocery - Grill
Aloha Grill - Hawaiian Food
Armonds Bakery & Cafe
Arpi's Phoenicia Deli
Best Dog Gone Sports Grille
Buffalo Wild Wings Grill & Bar
The Bull & Bear Tavern & Eatery
Burger Guys
Café Caspian - Persian Restaurant
Cascadas Restaurante y Cantina
Charley's Grilled Subs
Chick-fil-A
Chipotle - Burritos & Tacos
Edomae Sushi
Empório Brazilian Café
La Finca Mexican Restaurant
Fuddruckers
Hank's Crawfish: Cajun Grill - Oyster Bar
Imperia Bar & Grill - Russian Restaurant
Jack in the Box
Luby's
McDonald's
The Moghul's Restaurant & Lounge
Mumbai Spice
New York Pizzeria
Nit Noi Thai Restaurant
P.F. Chang's China Bistro
Pappadeaux Seafood Kitchen
Piatto Ristorante
Pizza Hut
Raising Cane's Chicken Fingers
Rioja - Spanish Tapas Restaurant
Rockfish Seafood Grill
SJR Fusion Bistro
Sapori Ristorante Italiano
Thai Bistro
Tops Burgers & Wraps
El Toro Mexican Restaurant
Wing Stop
Wok Bo - Chinese Buffet

There's also a banquet hall; a pub which probably serves food; and a gas station which may have sit-down dining.

And there are three "coming soon" signs:

Freebirds World Burrito
Portugallia - Portuguese & Angolian Cuisine
Potbelly Sandwich Shop

I am so lucky ... to be on a tight budget, so that I can't afford to eat myself into a coma.

The Fountainhead: Gail Wynand: 4

On Wynand's yacht, Dominique complains that people call her a hater of mankind. Tut-tut, says Wynand.

"... As a matter of fact, the person who loves everybody and feels at home everywhere is the true hater of mankind. He expects nothing of men, so no form of depravity can outrage him."

And ...

"... Those who speak of love most promiscuously are the ones who've never felt it. They make some sort of feeble stew out of sympathy, compasson, contempt and general indifference, and they call it love. Once you've felt what it means to love as you and I know it—the total passion for the total height—you're incapable of anything less."

That's right: überlove. Catch it.

I could not make this stuff up.

Not only that; Wynand has never felt small while looking at the stars, or the Grand Canyon. Because man is mightier than all that nature crap.

Gee, hubristic much?

Nature never did much for Dominique either; it's buildings—like the New York skyline—that make her shiver. Wynand: Same for me!

—OMG! You're me!

—And you're me!

—I love me!

—And I love me too!

—Will we marry us?

—Yes, we will!

Then it's settled: The yacht trip will be one week instead of two. As soon as they return, Dominique will get a Reno divorce, and then she and Wynand will marry. Keating can still build Stoneridge.

And they decide to remain chaste till their wedding night. To keep things pure (although there would be nothing impure if they did fool around).

The Fountainhead: Gail Wynand: 2-3

Ah, the Keatings and their sterile marriage. Dominique is always polite—so polite that Keating's frightened mother has fled their home and moved to a small apartment. One evening, Keating tells Dominique he has just read The Gallant Gallstone; to prove it, he sums up the book in the exact wording that was used in a book review in the Banner. He expresses frustration that Dominique never ventures an opinion about anything. He is living with a beautiful, polite zombie.

They analyze themselves: Dominique is trying to put herself in a position of self-disgust, and not succeeding. Keating is trying to find some self-respect, and not succeeding.

Toohey calls. Yes, by all means come by, Ellsworth! We were on the verge of facing reality; it was just too horrible.

Toohey reveals he has arranged for Dominique to meet Gail Wynand, in the hope of getting Keating the Stoneridge commission. While Keating is getting drinks in the kitchen, Toohey expresses satisfaction to Dominique that their bad marriage has thoroughly degraded Keating, but disappointment that Dominique hasn't been brought down as well. Bwa-ha-ha! How are those highballs coming, Peter?

Dominique meets Wynand, who reveals that Toohey gave him the statue to get him to agree to the meeting. Dominique reveals the sculptor's name: Steven Mallory—the fellow who took a shot at Toohey. Wynand: Why was the statue built? Dominique: For the Stoddard Temple. You were out of town. Wynand: Was the Temple worthy of the statue? Dominique: The statue was almost worthy of the Temple. Wynand: How do you know I was out of town? Dominique: Because you fired me by cable. Wynand: Wait, you're Dominique Francon? Small world. Dominique: Regarding Stoneridge—I will sleep with you if you give the commission to my husband. Wynand: Well, that's direct! You love your husband? Dominique: I despise him. And he's a third-rate architect. And I have no interest in sleeping with you. Wynand: Then why this offer? Dominique: I wish to degrade myself as much as possible. Wynand: Excellent. I think I shall like you. We will start off with a two-month cruise on my yacht. Let's have dinner with your husband tomorrow at some fancy restaurant.

Afterward, Wynand arranges to see several of Mallory's works. He buys five for his private gallery.

At the dinner, Wynand reveals the terms of the deal to Keating. Wynand: Of course, if you object, I can give the commission to your rival over there, Ralston Holcombe. Keating: (mortified, but unable to object).

Two days before the cruise, Wynand shows Dominique his private gallery—the art work he never shares with anyone. Dominique: Were you trying to curry favor with me by showing me this? Wynand: No, I just wanted you to see it.

Wow, this is all so believable.

The Fountainhead: Gail Wynand: 1

Gail Wynand's backstory: Growing up in Hell's Kitchen, Wynand used his fists of fury to establish himself as a gang leader at age twelve. He was canny and he was clever: Growing up, he came up with all sorts of innovations that were ignored by his superiors. The rough-and-tumble world was his classroom, and he specialized in figuring out how things worked. Once he was severely beaten by a longshoreman, and a saloonkeeper ignored his plea for help. Years later he used his power to drive the saloonkeeper to bankruptcy and suicide, but he took no revenge on the longshoreman.

The world taught him cynicism. He once offered his heart to a woman, and when she revealed herself to be an empty-headed twit, he made sure never to fall in love again. He once clipped an editorial decrying corruption; he thought it was the greatest thing he had ever read. Later he met the author of that editorial, who dismissed his own writing as swill. From then on Wynand had it in for integrity in any manifestation.

He showed up at a newspaper one day and hung around until they gave him a job. He quickly moved up, applying competence, hard work, and guile to build a newspaper empire. Eventually he moved into a glass-enclosed penthouse in mid-Manhattan. On the floor below he kept a private art gallery.


It is October 1932. Wynand has built an empire on yellow journalism, and groups pay him homage even though his editorials oppose their interests. Today Wynand notices references to the "Gallant Gallstone" inserted into various stories in the Banner; he learns it is the title of a novel by the demented Lois Cook—some oddball allegory on free will. Ellsworth Toohey may be behind the insertions.

Wynand has also purchased a large block of land on Long Island, which he wants to develop into Stoneridge, a community of small homes. He has not selected an architect for the development, but late in the day Toohey comes to his office and suggests Peter Keating. Wynand is not convinced, so Toohey suggest he meet with the very persuasive Mrs. Keating. Wynand: Wha? Toohey: Look—I've had a present shipped to your home. If you like the present, please grant Mrs. Keating an interview; if not, we will trouble you no more.

Wynand goes home, where the latest of a long string of mistresses is waiting. He gives her two things: a diamond bracelet, and the heave-ho. She is consoled by the jewelry (because she is no longer the woman of integrity she was when he first met her and decided to corrupt her).

Wynand reads in his library for a while, but is suddenly struck with the lack of desire to do anything. While doing nothing, he rummages through a dresser drawer and finds a gun he keeps there. He idly presses the gun to his temple and thinks of pulling the trigger, because the story has gotten really slow here. Rand: Keep reading or I kill this character!

Wynand puts down the gun and goes to his study, where there is a huge crate—Toohey's present, which no one has noticed. Wynand pries open the crate, and there stands a statue of a naked woman. He calls Toohey on the phone—it's the middle of the night by now—and agrees to meet with Mrs. Keating. He also demands to know the name of the sculptor, because the statue is clearly the work of an artistic genius. Toohey pretends to have trouble remembering the name.

I don't know why Wynand didn't have a conversation with the statue. Maybe that's being held for a later chapter.

The Fountainhead: Ellsworth M. Toohey: 14-15

To prepare for these chapters, please cue up the "Stump the Chumps" music from NPR's Car Talk.

The day after Katie Halsey and Peter Keating make plans to elope, Dominique Francon shows up at Keating's door. "Marry me, Peter. This is a one-time offer." And because Keating is world-class stupid, he agrees. They drive to Connecticut and get married by a judge. Then they return to Keating's place, where Dominique tells him she will return with her belongings tomorrow.

Off she goes to make boom boom on her wedding night wif her snookums Howard Roark. The next morning she tells Roark she loves him—the first time she's ever said such a thing. Then she reveals her marriage to Keating.

It takes the energy of three galaxies to suppress an explosion, but Roark does so, because he is the Übermensch. Dominique does some 'splainin': She knows they are out to destroy Roark, and eventually they will succeed. She can't stand to be there when that happens, but just to show them, she has chosen the most hellish fate she can imagine for herself—marriage to Keating. Roark: If I asked you to get the marriage annulled, and instead to become my wife and property, would you do so? Dominique: Yes. Roark: OK, then that's out. I love you. Buh-bye.

Keating's mother is dropping some eye of newt into her cauldron when Keating tells her that he has married Dominique. She squeeeeeeeeeees with delight and phones her friends with the news. The next day Dominique arrives with her things and is very polite to everyone, and Keating's mother realizes she is going to hate Dominique.

That evening Guy Francon joins the Keatings for dinner. He has a momentary insight that Dominique is in hell, but she reassures him.

Other guests drop by to congratulate the couple. After all the guests are gone, Dominique turns to Keating and in that seductive way of hers we know so well says, "Let's get it over with." She lies inert while he tries to have a grand time. Afterward he remembers about the quarryman, and he asks who her lover was. "Howard Roark." "Fine, keep it secret if you must."

The next day they receive a gift of white lilacs from Toohey. A few days later he comes by for dinner at the new couple's invitation. (Keating's mother is out with a previous engagement.) Keating: Well, don't we make a jolly threesome! While Keating answers a phone call, Toohey speaks with Dominique: I see what's going on! You've always been in love with that fellow Roark! But of course he will have nothing to do with you, so out of spite you married Keating! I know all and see all! Bwa-ha-ha! Dominique: Hmm, I overestimated you. Toohey: ???

Stoddard and Toohey choose a committee of architects to make the alterations to the Stoddard Temple: Keating, Prescott, Snyte, and a self-important novice idiot named Gus Webb. The four architects sit around and bond, becoming close friends. As part of their comradely cutting-up, "Gordon L. Prescott told a few jokes of a bathroom nature." (These are the actual words of the author. I will never be able to look at my own bad writing in the same way again.)

In September 1931 a group of carefully-chosen subnormal children move into the renovated structure. Catherine Halsey becomes an occupational therapist there.

Toohey quietly purchases the statue of Dominique and takes it away.

Roark's office has shrunk back to a single room. He takes whatever meager work he can find. He also pays Mallory's rent, because artists of genius must be supported for the benefit of art. Roark imagines that if he were thwarted from doing his art, Mallory would suffer more than a whole slew of people would suffer if they had been run down by a tank. Because great artists suffer greatly, you see.

One day Roark goes by the former Stoddard Temple to see what's been done to it. Toohey has been waiting for Roark to drift by. Toohey: Aha! I knew you'd come here eventually. I completely understand your work. What do you make of this building as it stands now? Roark: I see no purpose in discussing it. Toohey: Well, what do you think of me? Roark: I don't think of you. What else to you have to say? Toohey: Nothing.

And although the folks at the Ayn Rand Institute toy with the idea of asking for government intervention when they hear me say it, this is the end of Part 2 of The Fountainhead.

The Fountainhead: Ellsworth M. Toohey: 12-13

I haven't mentioned it before, but the Stoddard Temple is designed to feature horizontal lines, rather than vertical, and it is open to the air; plus, there's that statue of the naked woman. In other words, it is unlike any other religious building in the world.

Stoddard returns from his travels just before the scheduled grand opening, is given a surreptitious tour of the Temple by Toohey, and is persuaded to sue Roark because the temple is unlike any other religious building in the world. The suit asks for Roark to pay for alterations to make the space suitable. Oh, and the grand opening is canceled.

Toohey writes a column titled "Sacrilege," excoriating Roark. The column goes on and on in the windiest prose imaginable and oh please make it stop make it stop

The A.G.A. denounces the Stoddard Temple, as do all those councils of fools Toohey organied.

Dominique goes to Toohey's office and Toohey cajoles her and lectures her about Roark and goes on and on and here we go again please make him stop make him stop

The trial opens in February 1931. Each day after the proceedings, Mallory, Heller, Enright, Landing, and Mike the builder (who has worked on every one of Roark's projects) get together to console Roark. Except that he doesn't need consoling, because he is the Übermensch.

Toohey is the first plaintiff witness and he testifies that Stoddard Temple bad bad, and the courtroom audience erupts, and the judge bangs his gavel and threatens to have the court cleared, and oh my my please make the clichés stop make them stop

Roark, acting as his own attorney, does not cross-examine. Keating testifies for the plaintiff and talks about Roark being expelled from school, and Roark bad bad, and it's obvious Keating is very drunk. OK, we knew Keating was a worm, but ... really? And again no cross-examination.

And the usual gang of architectural idiots—among them Holcombe, Prescott, and Snyte—testify that Temple bad bad, and Roark waives cross-examination.

On the fourth day is the last plaintiff's witness: Dominique Francon. And she says, yes, I agree with these witnesses; this Temple is a threat to all of us. Roark's design, honoring the human spirit, depicts man as heroic and striving for excellence. (She does not mention the hubba-hubba depiction of woman.) And this is contrary to the vision of Toohey, who sees man as a mewling beggar, apologizing to the Eternal for his manifold faults. So Roark's Temple is a vision of man's nobility that utterly betrays the viewpoint of the building's sponsor and all right-thinking people. And this time she says it in a way such that people can pick up on the sarcasm.

Roark does not cross-examine. He lays before the judge ten snapshots of the temple, and he rests his defense.

Finding for the plaintiff.

Stoddard announces that the remodeled building will be repurposed as the Hopton Stoddard Home for Subnormal Children.

Dominique submits her trial testimony as the text for the latest installment of her newspaper column. Alvah Scarret says the Banner can't print that. She insists. He cables the column to a vacationing Gail Wynand, asking what to do. Wynand cables back: "Fire the bitch. G.W." Toohey, skulking around the Banner offices, gets a copy of the cable before Scarret does and triumphantly presents it to Dominique. She packs and leaves.

At home, Toohey is visited by his niece Catherine. She's been depressed and unhappy—hasn't read the paper in days. She fears she is turning into a bad person. In her social services job, she has come to feel contempt for the needy people she is supposed to be helping, and she doesn't understand why. Helping the poor was supposed to make her happy! She whines on and on and please please please make her stop

Toohey tells her that she is simply being selfish, which is a perfectly normal thing. He tells her that to stop being unhappy, she must stop wanting things; when her egotism is gone, her unhappiness will end.

The next day Keating comes a-calling. He wants to see Katie, whom he hasn't seen in six months. Alone with her, he confesses he did a very bad thing and afterward went on a bender. He's better now; seeing her makes him feel all better. They should get married! They should elope, day after tomorrow! They agree, and Keating leaves.

Toohey finds Katie sobbing with happiness. She tells him she's not afraid of him any more.

The Fountainhead: Ellsworth M. Toohey: 11

The Cosmo-Slotnick Building opens in December. After the ceremonies Toohey takes Keating to dinner in a pricy restaurant. Toohey: You would have looked better with a wife at your side. Keating: "Katie doesn't photograph well." (Yikes.) Toohey: Oh yeah, I forgot you were engaged. I was thinking of Dominique. Keating: I don't love Dominique. Toohey: Personal love is evil; it's discrimination. All are equal; everyone should be loved equally.

At the annual Arts Ball the architects come costumed as their best buildings. Gordon Prescott dresses as a grain elevator. Heh.

Dominique visits Roark at his office. He is making a model of the Aquitania. Watching his hands shape the clay makes her legs go weak.

Roark contacts Steven Mallory (the artist who took a shot at Toohey) to sculpt a statue for the Stoddard Temple. Mallory: Why do you want me? My name is mud. Roark: You're a genius. Mallory: OK. Roark: It will be a naked woman. I'd like Dominique Francon to be the model. Mallory: Wowee!!!

Construction on the temple, atop a rock overlooking the Hudson, is underway. On the grounds is a shack in which Mallory works on his statue. One day Dominique is having trouble finding the right way to stand. She and Mallory are about to call it a day when Roark arrives. Inspired, Dominique throws off her robe and strikes a heroic pose: How 'bout these apples, Steve? Mallory: Woo-hoo! Perfect!!!

In May construction is halted on the Aquitania Hotel when the owners go bankrupt. In her newspaper column, Dominique dubs it the Unfinished Symphony.

The Fountainhead: Ellsworth M. Toohey: 10

In June 1929 the Enright House opens, and Howard Roark begins to get more business. He has already gotten a contract to build the Norris house in the country, and Anthony Cord selected Roark in May to build a fifty-story office tower in Manhattan. Roark's office has expanded to four rooms, and he has a loyal staff.

Dominique has developed the habit of going in walks in the city, particularly walks to Roark's buildings. Late one night she rides the Staten Island ferry out and contemplates the city. Then she takes a long walk and arrives at Roark's door at 4:30am. She just wants to be with him. No boom boom this time. They start spending weekends together in the country. They talk about their growing mutual ownership of one another.

A corporation wants to build a luxury hotel, the Aquitania, on Central Park South. In early June, one of the board members, Kent Lansing, sets his sights on Roark. Roark: I don't do well with groups; no board will ever hire me. Lansing: Groups of men are like vacuums. I can make them do what I want. Roark: I like you. Why stick your neck out for me? Lansing: Because you will build a great building, and that's what I want.

Thanks to Lansing's persistence, at the end of July Roark gets the commission.

Dominique visits Toohey. She tells him she tried to stop the Aquitania job from going to Roark, but she's happy he got it.

Toohey has a friend, Hopton Stoddard, an heir and brilliant investor, who is about to take an extended trip abroad. Stoddard is concerned about the afterlife—his own afterlife. He isn't sure which religion is the right one, so he proposes to bribe his way into heaven: He wants to build the Stoddard Temple of the Human Spirit, an interdenominational thumbs-up to whatever gods might be paying attention.

Toohey hatches an evil plan. He calls Stoddard one day with this idea: The man to build your temple is Howard Roark. You must give him complete freedom to build as he sees fit. He will want to decline the job—he is an atheist. You say to him that from his buildings, you can tell that he is a deeply religious man. Don't bother looking at any of his drawings, and don't sign a contract before you go on your trip; you can pay Roark his fee when you return. It should be sufficient to make some financial arrangements with your bank before you go. Now, you'll want publicity for your Temple, so keep the construction site hidden behind fences, and don't let the press see anything before the grand unveiling. Oh, and whatever you do, don't let Roark know I suggested this. If it gets out that I steered a big commission to Roark, all my other architect friends will be jealous. But if you can get Roark to take this job ... it's just a matter of time, Pinky, before we take over the world!!! Wait, did I say that out loud?

So Stoddard goes to Roark and lays it out just like Toohey suggested. Roark is very suspicious—this guy Stoddard gives him the willies. But "deep down you're a very religious man" strikes home. Roark agrees to build the Temple.

Bwa-ha-ha!!!

The Fountainhead: Ellsworth M. Toohey: 9

EMT's backstory:

Ellsworth Monkton Toohey was a fragile, sickly child, nicknamed Elsie by his classmates. He had an older sister, Helen, who enjoyed good health. His father, unimaginative and unambitious, managed a shoe store. His mother was the nervous type, inclined to chase religious fads. The sicker Elsie got, the nobler his mother felt taking care of him.

Elsie was quiet, studious, well-behaved, and almost eerily even-tempered. He did not go for sports. His best subjects were English, civics, history, and penmanship. He had a brilliant memory. He also had a wonderful voice, both speaking and singing.

Elsie's rival in school was Johnny Stokes. Johnny was athletic and very handsome, and he learned without effort. He was as surprising as Elsie was stolid. Elsie's one surprising moment came when he sprayed Johnny with the garden hose as Johnny and his mother walked by in their Sunday finest. He was getting back at Johnny because Johnny had bullied several children at school. After committing the deed, Elsie submitted readily to his parents' mild punishment.

Elsie was eleven when his mother died. A homely maiden aunt moved in to run the household.

In high school Elsie became a star debater.

At age sixteen he lost interest in religion and took up socialism. He instructed his aunt to stop calling him Elsie.

His mother's life insurance paid for his education at Harvard. He impressed his patrician classmates by frankly owning up to—even exaggerating—the humbleness of his own origins. He became a dormitory philosopher, with a growing band of followers. No gift is worthwhile, said "Monk," unless it truly cost the giver. Devote yourself to things you consider vile; the goal is to utterly squelch the ego.

After getting his Master's degree at another university—his thesis was "Collective Blah Blah Arcane Blah Blah Architecture"—he took a variety of jobs. He reviewed books, preferring novels about the ordinary, the sickly, the rural; and especially, novels without heroes. He also worked as a career adviser at the university, steering students away from careers they might enjoy; they must put usefulness to society above personal satisfaction. Eventually he became an architecture critic, writing columns in a succession of magazines.

In 1921 Helen died, and Toohey's niece, Catherine Halsey, moved in with him.

In 1925 Toohey's book, Sermons in Stone, was published and became a bestseller. Gail Wynand's newspaper syndicate hired him to write a column, "One Small Voice," on subjects of his choosing. At the New York Banner, Toohey befriended the "little people" working for the paper. He even recommended people to fill vacancies at the Banner, and Alvah Scarret was happy to follow his recommendations. Toohey's people were mostly "young, brash, competent, shifty-eyed and shook hands limply." I have no idea what that signifies.

In addition to the Council of American Builders, Toohey organized the Council of American Writers, chaired by Lois Cook, and the Council of American Artists. Both organizations—all three, actually—were stuffed with ninnies.

So there you have it.

The Fountainhead: Ellsworth M. Toohey: 8

Ding-dong. Gentleman caller for Miss Dominique Francon. It's Ellsworth Toohey!

—Good evening, my dear. (Bring me a liqueur, please.) It is time to reveal that I am a supervillain! Bwa-ha-ha! Thank you for steering business away from Howard Roark and into the hands of your father's partner, Peter Keating. You please me very much! There is a pottery manufacturer, Gilbert Colton, who wants to build a factory here, in the modern style. It will be a plum job. Make sure Roark doesn't get the commission. And now I will get philosophical, because all the best villains are philosophers. Look at the great city! It is said that all the inventions of civilization arise from the genius of twelve men. Without them we would be living in caves. Is this good or bad? On the one hand, we get the benefits of all their cleverness. On the other hand, we the mediocre multitudes are surrounded with objects that remind us how inferior we are to those twelve geniuses; how can we stand the constant humiliation? Think about it.

So Dominique continues her campaign, becoming a social butterfly and tearing into Roark's reputation by day. And then she and Roark get together at night, at her place or his, and tear into one another in a very different way, hubba hubba! And sure enough, she steers the Colton factory job to Keating, and when she asks Roark if he wanted that job badly, he answers yes, badly, and then more hubba hubba.

Austen Heller is angry at Dominique for trashing Roark.

One day Roger Enright shows up at Dominique's office and enlists her in an impromptu trip to the site where the Enright House is going up. She is transfixed; the site oozes Roark's genius. She writes a column saying someone should drop a bomb on the site, because when it is built no human being will be worthy to live in it. But almost everyone who reads the column thinks she is just hatin' on Roark some more, which is what she intended.

Everyone thinks Dominique is in love with Keating, because of all the business she is steering his way. That is, everyone but Keating, who has his doubts.

Keating attends a meeting of the Council of American Builders. Gordon Prescott speechifies: We architects are actually the shapers and arrangers of empty space. So, clearly, emptiness is superior to substance; nothingness is superior to somethingness. Extending the logic, the beautiful are inferior to the ugly, the rich are inferior to the poor, the gifted are inferior to the inept.

After the meeting Toohey and Keating chat. Kindness is the highest value, says Toohey; we must always be kind and loving. That's why I criticize things that are not kind. Are you feeling the love?

This is crazypants.

The Fountainhead: Ellsworth M. Toohey: 7

A week after the dinner party, Dominique column condemns the Enright building as "insolent." Toohey comes by her office and taunts her: So you've decided to play a trick on Roark? All right. But you really should write about the Cosmo-Slotnick Building. That Keating is really a great architect and a  fine fellow. He and Roark go way back. Of course, Roark probably thinks Keating is mediocrity personified. It must grate on Roark to be beaten by Keating, over and over.... Dominique: Get out!!

That evening Sutton calls Dominique to discuss her column; they meet for lunch the next day. Sutton: I was about to pick Roark for my building when I read your column. Now I have my doubts, because you're real smart. Dominique: Pick Roark if you want to have a brilliant failure of a building. Or you could go with the man of the hour.

Sutton calls on Roark. Sutton: Sorry, I was about to pick you but am going with Keating, at Dominique's suggestion. Why are you laughing so strangely?

That evening Dominique calls on Roark at his room. Dominique: How does it feel to be pwned? I hate you. I gonna destroy you. But now we make-a the boom boom.

They make-a the boom boom.

Ooh—twisted!

The Fountainhead: Ellsworth M. Toohey: 6

This chapter begins with a paean to Roger Enright, Self-Made Man, and pardon me while I fwow up. There are certainly men and women of great accomplishment, but the myth of the person who succeeds without anyone's help is a bit of self-deceiving claptrap. Dream on, ye high priests of individualism.

Roark reopens his office to work on the Enright Building. Mostly he focuses on the construction, but occasionally he thinks of Dominique, knowing it must be driving her crazy not knowing who or where he is. This amuses him.

Joel Sutton is a successful businessman who met Roark through Enright. Sutton has trouble reading people, so he loves everyone without discrimination. He is planning to put up a big office building, and if a smart guy like Enright would hire Roark, maybe Sutton will too. He meets with Roark and likes him; after much thought, he just might award Roark the commission, some time down the road.

In December Austen Heller visits Roark and urges him to attend a formal dinner put on by Kiki Holcombe. Sutton will be there; it will be Roark's chance to make a favorable impression. After some argument, Heller convinces Roark to attend. Gosh, I hope Heller's assistance doesn't cut into Roark's credentials as a self-made man, although I guess it could be argued that Roark's inherent excellence, which he self-made to spray all over everyone he meets, provided the motivation for Heller to try to assist Roark in the first place. Does that theory work?

At the dinner, Toohey is demonstrating to all the guests how courageous and clever he is by telling them things they don't want to hear in ways they want to hear them. Or something. Keating is there too, still enjoying the celebrity of the Cosmo-Slotnick commission, although he would be happier if Dominique would pay attention to him.

Then Roark arrives, orange hair and all dressed up. He is introduced to Dominique, and no one knows her brain is exploding except the two of them. They converse politely.

There is much mingling and conversation. Roark talks to Sutton, who invites him to play badminton. Roark: I don't play badminton. Later Keating tells Roark he should have sucked up to Sutton and pretended he played badminton.

Toohey also sees Roark for the first time, and he watches him obsessively. Toohey and Dominique have special powers and can see that Roark is very handsome and that Roark's soul blazes forth with great style like a million suns. No one else sees this.

Yes, it's all about the really special people. The rest of us don't really count, do we?

The Fountainhead: Ellsworth M. Toohey: 5

Dominique has returned to New York. She takes long walks and imagines fear on the faces of all the passers-by. She is no longer free; Roark has affected her. She goes to the Banner to resign her job, which she hates, but then she stops to think: Resigning would amount to letting Roark control her (?), while keeping her job would be a defiance of Roark's control—which would really be another form of control, dang it. Since keeping her job makes her life more difficult than letting it go, she decides to keep the job after all. So there.

Toohey comes into her office and shows her a newspaper clipping with a drawing of the Enright House. Her reaction: The designer should kill himself, because building such a perfect thing means that it will be degraded by contact with humans.

Mallory is on trial for the attack on Toohey. The latter appears in court and pleads for leniency for the accused. Mallory gets off lightly: He is convicted and given a two-year suspended sentence. He does not seem pleased.

(And, judging by the dogeared page, this is the point where my book's previous owner laid down the tome, perhaps never to take it up again. I venture into new territory.)

Toohey had urged Keating to form an organization of young architects, and when the group convenes at Toohey's home, Keating is elected chairman. The young people are concerned about injustice, particularly prejudice against the young; surely they deserve a guaranteed job on getting out of college. And oh, those evil rich....

Toohey addresses the group, now called the Council of American Builders. He explains that architects are supremely important, due to their service to their fellow man and their championing of the poor and the homeless.

Ding-dong! Dominique at the door: May I come in, Ellsworth? Ah, I see the man who used to be in love with me is here! Keating: (sputter). Dominique: Why didn't you invite that Howard Roark fellow? Keating and Toohey: (sputter). Dominique: Peter, will you take me home?

On the cab ride, Keating reaches over, takes Dominique's hand, and kisses her wrist. Instead of her usual indifference, she is revulsed. Keating: O - M - G! You've ... been ... with someone! Dominique: Yes, some quarryman. Keating: I will always love you. Dominique: You represent everything I despise, even though you're the best of the world. We must stay apart. If I ever come back to you ... (shudder) ... well, you've been warned.

Gosh, I wonder if anything is being foreshadowed here.