There is a wonderful bit of dialogue in the film version of The Fountainhead that wasn't in the book.
In the book, Dominique Francon has a brief moment of passion with a worker in a granite quarry. By "moment of passion," I mean that she flirts with the man, and later on he shows up at her home and forces himself on her. Much later, her husband Gail Wynand brings home the architect Howard Roark for dinner. When she sees Roark, she recognizes him as the quarryman.
In the film, the rape takes place more or less as in the book. But the subsequent meeting takes place in a public place, a celebration of the opening of Enright House. Dominique had written a column about Roark's work, and at their meeting she mentions her column. Roark (leering): I remember every line of it. Dominique: I wish I had never seen ... your building.
"Column" and "building": What clever ways to get around the censors!
The movie, directed by King Vidor, is a lot of fun, at least for someone who has read the book. Gary Cooper is twenty years too old to play Howard Roark; this is all but acknowledged in the opening scenes of the film, which zip through the novel's early years and only show Roark in darkened silhouette. But Coop is the right "type" for the role—upright and taciturn. Patricia Neal is brilliant as Dominique. She brings TEH CRAZEE, as they say, depicting a very disturbed and very beautiful woman. Raymond Massey is more than adequate as Gail Wynand. In Ayn Rand's screenplay, the figures of Keating and Toohey are much reduced from the book—a wise choice. Max Steiner's score is just the sort of stirring romantic music the film needs.
The clunky parts of dialogue are the sometimes lengthy discourses on Objectivism that Rand insisted on keeping in the screenplay. This was her privilege, and her philosophy is the driving force of the book; but Cooper's delivery of Roark's long courtroom speech is painfully wooden.
Still, Rand did a fine job chopping away big parts of the book to make a two-hour screenplay, and the movie came out much better than I expected.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
On Blogging The Fountainhead; And: Conclusions
A few years ago, David Plotz, a not-very-religious writer at slate.com, took on the task of blogging the Bible. It was a popular series of articles. Plotz learned a lot, his readers learned a lot, and he eventually got a book out of the experience. It helped that he's a good writer.
January 2011. Here I am, trying to push myself to write. And here's this book, The Fountainhead, which some denounce as trash and some revere as a religious text. So hey! If Plotz can blog a long book, so can I. If nothing else, it will be good writing practice.
And so it was. I can't vouch for the reader's experience. I'm not sure I even want to think about it. But overall, it's been a gas to write. There will not be a book, however.
The debate over Ayn Rand continues. Andrew Sullivan's blog, The Dish, has hosted an ongoing discussion of Rand's influence. A couple of interesting assertions:
Objectivism is the sort of philosophy many kids adopt and then grow out of by the time they're thirteen. I get the point. We are instructed to sneer at any grownup who looks up to Rand and her ideas. Right. Why limit ourselves to a discussion of the ideas—and from what I've seen of it, I do find Objectivism to be pretty laughable—when we can throw personal insults about. That's so adult.
Rand's novels are particularly appealing to high-achieving girls; they completely identify with the geniuses under attack by a conformist society. Interesting thought. The idea is that in school, girls are put under intense peer pressure not to stand out. Just when they want to discover their selves and cultivate their own abilities, they are told to stay with the pack. Hmm. I don't know if that's true, but it makes sense.
My far-too-brief, altogether-too-pat conclusions—
Ayn Rand was a skilled writer and a droning, ham-handed polemicist. She did a brilliant job skewering the hypocricy of the left. She could write exciting bits of plot. But it was her ambition to preach, to prove her system. Her ideal, the self-contained genius, doesn't work in the real world.
In condemning altruism, she claims that no one can reach the ideal of being a pure altruist; thus we are all condemned to fall short. Yet being a pure individualist is just as impossible for everyone but the sociopath. We are all doomed to be something less than pure egotists.
But I'm venturing into philosophy and getting rapidly out of my depth. Let's get back to the book.
Roark and Toohey bear the burden of personifying the extremes of Rand's world-view; they barely register as human. Roark is innocent genius, mostly disconnected from human interaction. (His out-of-character friendship with Wynand is the one part of the novel's depiction that works.) Toohey is a caricature, a mustache-twirling villain.
Dominique is wildly inconsistent, and not in the way actual human beings can be inconsistent. She simply becomes a different person to suit the story, from devouring femme fatale to icily cordial wife to swooning lover to footnote.
Keating is all flaws and no nobility. He is the bedraggled cat captured by the author and released with a string of cans tied to its tail.
Wynand is the character most fully fleshed-out. He is a man of great genius and drive, but circumstances put him on the path of accumulating power, which eventually gains him nothing. His collapse is a bit abrupt, but he breathes real air from time to time.
Rand's universe is a twisted place. The heroes are all rough beasts, unsociable and instinctively disliked by others. Kindliness is the sign of a villain. The people of the world are full of latent hostility, like iron filings rising up in the presence of a magnet. Originality and genius are frightful things to be beaten down as soon as they appear. To Rand, the primary emotion of man is jealousy. The book seems to have been written from a defensive crouch.
I will be paying one more visit to the world of The Fountainhead, and then I will put it behind me. Stay tuned.
January 2011. Here I am, trying to push myself to write. And here's this book, The Fountainhead, which some denounce as trash and some revere as a religious text. So hey! If Plotz can blog a long book, so can I. If nothing else, it will be good writing practice.
And so it was. I can't vouch for the reader's experience. I'm not sure I even want to think about it. But overall, it's been a gas to write. There will not be a book, however.
The debate over Ayn Rand continues. Andrew Sullivan's blog, The Dish, has hosted an ongoing discussion of Rand's influence. A couple of interesting assertions:
Objectivism is the sort of philosophy many kids adopt and then grow out of by the time they're thirteen. I get the point. We are instructed to sneer at any grownup who looks up to Rand and her ideas. Right. Why limit ourselves to a discussion of the ideas—and from what I've seen of it, I do find Objectivism to be pretty laughable—when we can throw personal insults about. That's so adult.
Rand's novels are particularly appealing to high-achieving girls; they completely identify with the geniuses under attack by a conformist society. Interesting thought. The idea is that in school, girls are put under intense peer pressure not to stand out. Just when they want to discover their selves and cultivate their own abilities, they are told to stay with the pack. Hmm. I don't know if that's true, but it makes sense.
My far-too-brief, altogether-too-pat conclusions—
Ayn Rand was a skilled writer and a droning, ham-handed polemicist. She did a brilliant job skewering the hypocricy of the left. She could write exciting bits of plot. But it was her ambition to preach, to prove her system. Her ideal, the self-contained genius, doesn't work in the real world.
In condemning altruism, she claims that no one can reach the ideal of being a pure altruist; thus we are all condemned to fall short. Yet being a pure individualist is just as impossible for everyone but the sociopath. We are all doomed to be something less than pure egotists.
But I'm venturing into philosophy and getting rapidly out of my depth. Let's get back to the book.
Roark and Toohey bear the burden of personifying the extremes of Rand's world-view; they barely register as human. Roark is innocent genius, mostly disconnected from human interaction. (His out-of-character friendship with Wynand is the one part of the novel's depiction that works.) Toohey is a caricature, a mustache-twirling villain.
Dominique is wildly inconsistent, and not in the way actual human beings can be inconsistent. She simply becomes a different person to suit the story, from devouring femme fatale to icily cordial wife to swooning lover to footnote.
Keating is all flaws and no nobility. He is the bedraggled cat captured by the author and released with a string of cans tied to its tail.
Wynand is the character most fully fleshed-out. He is a man of great genius and drive, but circumstances put him on the path of accumulating power, which eventually gains him nothing. His collapse is a bit abrupt, but he breathes real air from time to time.
Rand's universe is a twisted place. The heroes are all rough beasts, unsociable and instinctively disliked by others. Kindliness is the sign of a villain. The people of the world are full of latent hostility, like iron filings rising up in the presence of a magnet. Originality and genius are frightful things to be beaten down as soon as they appear. To Rand, the primary emotion of man is jealousy. The book seems to have been written from a defensive crouch.
I will be paying one more visit to the world of The Fountainhead, and then I will put it behind me. Stay tuned.
The Fountainhead: Howard Roark: 18-20
In the Roark trial, the prosecution accuses Roark of being something "monstrous and inconceivable"—an egotist. The arresting officer, the night watchman, and other witnesses testify. Keating affirms that it was Roark who designed Cortlandt Homes. The contract is brandished. The prosecution rests. Roark rises to give his statement. It runs 7½ pages.
The man who discovered how to make fire, Roark says, was probably burned at the stake. The inventor of the wheel was probably torn on the rack.
(What? The same guy invented the wheel and the rack?)
Let's face it. There are a few creators; everyone else is apoopyhead second-hander. Creators are not out to help anyone else; they are merely seekers of truth. Second-handers glom off creators' creations. They are parasites.
The creator operates out of his own self, his ego. The ego is the truthiest thing.
There is no collective mind. There are only individuals. Agreements, committee decisions—these are secondary things.
Altruists depend on others for validation. Depending on others is slavery. Slavery—physical bondage—is bad. Altruism—mental bondage—is bad squared.
Second-handers agree with others; they swim with the current. Creators disagree. The creator's virtue is his ability to stand by himself.
Independence is good. Interdependence is evil.
I created Cortlandt Homes. Second-handers perverted it. As its creator, I had the right to destroy it.
This is a great country, built by creators, not second-handers. If I am sentenced to ten years in prison, I will serve my term in memory of what a great country this used to be.
Roark says all these things, and more besides. The prosecution sums up its case. The jury spends a few seconds in the jury room before returning with a verdict of not guilty.
Roger Enright buys the Cortlandt site and has Roark rebuild the project in his own pure vision.
Wynand gets his divorce.
Toohey brings a wrongful termination case before the labor board. He wins. Wynand tells him to report to work the evening of the ruling. Toohey reports, sits at his old desk, and listens to the presses running; Wynand stand nearby. Then the presses stop. Wynand: Hope you enjoyed your job. It's over. I have shut down the Banner.
Toohey finds another job.
Wynand invites Roark to his office and formally invites him to design and construct the Wynand building. It will be the world's tallest skyscraper. Roark accepts and they sign the contract. Wynand specifies that this is the last contact the two of them will have.
Eighteen months later, Dominique comes to the Wynand building construction site. A hoist carries her up, up into the sky. Waiting for her at the top of the universe is Howard Roark.
THE END
I'll have some closing comments anon.
The man who discovered how to make fire, Roark says, was probably burned at the stake. The inventor of the wheel was probably torn on the rack.
(What? The same guy invented the wheel and the rack?)
Let's face it. There are a few creators; everyone else is a
The creator operates out of his own self, his ego. The ego is the truthiest thing.
There is no collective mind. There are only individuals. Agreements, committee decisions—these are secondary things.
Altruists depend on others for validation. Depending on others is slavery. Slavery—physical bondage—is bad. Altruism—mental bondage—is bad squared.
Second-handers agree with others; they swim with the current. Creators disagree. The creator's virtue is his ability to stand by himself.
Independence is good. Interdependence is evil.
I created Cortlandt Homes. Second-handers perverted it. As its creator, I had the right to destroy it.
This is a great country, built by creators, not second-handers. If I am sentenced to ten years in prison, I will serve my term in memory of what a great country this used to be.
Roark says all these things, and more besides. The prosecution sums up its case. The jury spends a few seconds in the jury room before returning with a verdict of not guilty.
Roger Enright buys the Cortlandt site and has Roark rebuild the project in his own pure vision.
Wynand gets his divorce.
Toohey brings a wrongful termination case before the labor board. He wins. Wynand tells him to report to work the evening of the ruling. Toohey reports, sits at his old desk, and listens to the presses running; Wynand stand nearby. Then the presses stop. Wynand: Hope you enjoyed your job. It's over. I have shut down the Banner.
Toohey finds another job.
Wynand invites Roark to his office and formally invites him to design and construct the Wynand building. It will be the world's tallest skyscraper. Roark accepts and they sign the contract. Wynand specifies that this is the last contact the two of them will have.
Eighteen months later, Dominique comes to the Wynand building construction site. A hoist carries her up, up into the sky. Waiting for her at the top of the universe is Howard Roark.
THE END
I'll have some closing comments anon.
Friday, April 22, 2011
The Fountainhead: Howard Roark: 17
The enemies of Gail Wynand come together to celebrate his defeat. Here's one I love:
Roark tries to meet with Wynand but is turned away. He writes Wynand a "there's nothing to forgive" letter which is returned unopened.
Dominique is at the country home, thinking about what to do. Of course, she knows what she's going to do.
Roark has rented a house in the Monadnock Valley. Dominique shows up at his door. He asks her to have pity on Wynand, but at the end of the day they rearrange the bedsheets.
Dominique rises early and puts in a bogus call to the local sheriff to report a stolen ring. In a short while the sheriff, a deputy, and a couple of local newsmen show up at Roark's door. With Roark standing by, Dominique invites them in and says that Roark had given her a star-sapphire ring recently; that she had placed the ring on the nightstand next to the bed, beneath an open window; and that this morning the ring was gone. She offers to let them search the place. They say thank you ma'am, we have all we need.
After they leave she tells Roark she's happy now. She has tears in her eyes.
The scandal hits the papers, and at the Banner offices, Scarret urges Wynand to divorce Dominique. OK, he says dully. Scarret gets a divorce attorney on the job tout suite.
Wynand drives out to the country home in Connecticut. Dominique confirms she and Roark had been together before her marriage to Keating, but the night of the ring was her only moment of unfaithfulness to Wynand. He leaves.
Guy Francon calls his daughter. He invites her to stay with him until Roark's trial is over. At the Francon estate, father tells daughter to drink her milk and go to bed. Dominique: OK. Guy: By the way, I approve of your choice. Roark is the right man for you.
At the Banner, Scarret comes up with a story to restore Wynand's reputation: Wynand's support of Roark had all been at the urging of his faithless wife. It was the tragic story of a great man betrayed by a bad woman. Wynand: Do what you want; it's your job.
"Isn't it splendid? Wynand's surrendered," said a tight-lipped woman; she knew little about Wynand and nothing about the issue, but she liked to hear of people surrendering.Rand wields the acid pen as well as anyone.
Roark tries to meet with Wynand but is turned away. He writes Wynand a "there's nothing to forgive" letter which is returned unopened.
Dominique is at the country home, thinking about what to do. Of course, she knows what she's going to do.
Roark has rented a house in the Monadnock Valley. Dominique shows up at his door. He asks her to have pity on Wynand, but at the end of the day they rearrange the bedsheets.
Dominique rises early and puts in a bogus call to the local sheriff to report a stolen ring. In a short while the sheriff, a deputy, and a couple of local newsmen show up at Roark's door. With Roark standing by, Dominique invites them in and says that Roark had given her a star-sapphire ring recently; that she had placed the ring on the nightstand next to the bed, beneath an open window; and that this morning the ring was gone. She offers to let them search the place. They say thank you ma'am, we have all we need.
After they leave she tells Roark she's happy now. She has tears in her eyes.
The scandal hits the papers, and at the Banner offices, Scarret urges Wynand to divorce Dominique. OK, he says dully. Scarret gets a divorce attorney on the job tout suite.
Wynand drives out to the country home in Connecticut. Dominique confirms she and Roark had been together before her marriage to Keating, but the night of the ring was her only moment of unfaithfulness to Wynand. He leaves.
Guy Francon calls his daughter. He invites her to stay with him until Roark's trial is over. At the Francon estate, father tells daughter to drink her milk and go to bed. Dominique: OK. Guy: By the way, I approve of your choice. Roark is the right man for you.
At the Banner, Scarret comes up with a story to restore Wynand's reputation: Wynand's support of Roark had all been at the urging of his faithless wife. It was the tragic story of a great man betrayed by a bad woman. Wynand: Do what you want; it's your job.
The Fountainhead: Howard Roark: 15-16
Toohey has managed to get a denunciation of Roark published in his Banner column, "One Small Voice." Wynand fires Toohey and everyone involved in approving the column. (Scarret has been sick with laryngitis, so he's in the clear.) Wynand publishes an editorial apology for ever printing the words of that "contemptible blackguard," Ellsworth Toohey. Toohey stops by Wynand's office to proclaim, "I'll be back, bwa-ha-ha!"
At the Banner, the union goes on strike in support of Toohey and the fired editors. Wynand continues to publish with a skeleton staff, including Dominique; they take up residence in the Banner building. The paper's big advertisers pull out in favor of the strike; circulation plummets as the public supports the strike. The strikers engage in vandalism and murder. No violence is committed against the strikers—not even a threat of violence, or murmurs of retaliation.
Wow, this has to be the most realistic strike in fiction, ever.
After three weeks, Wynand slips out of the building to visit Roark, who tells him not to give in.
After a few more weeks, the paper's board of directors meets. The directors complain that Wynand is engaged in some sort of crusade which will destroy the paper. After much discussion, Scarret suggests a compromise with the strikers: Rehire everyone but Toohey, and take an anti-Roark editorial stance. Exhausted, Wynand agrees.
Leaving Scarret in charge of the paper, Wynand wanders the streets of New York. Eventually the morning edition of the Banner is published, including an editorial by Wynand, denouncing Roark. (It is from Roark's first trial, long ago.) Wynand realizes that as a publisher he had subverted any power he might have had by catering to the prejudices of the great unwashed. The mindless mobs were his boss. Wynand looks around and realizes he's in Hell's Kitchen. I never left, he thinks.
He sees a copy of the Banner on the ground. Roark's picture is on the front page. Someone has trod upon the paper; there is the mark of a rubber heel across Roark's face.
OH MY GOD HAVEN'T I SUFFERED ENOUGH?
Just four chapters to go.
At the Banner, the union goes on strike in support of Toohey and the fired editors. Wynand continues to publish with a skeleton staff, including Dominique; they take up residence in the Banner building. The paper's big advertisers pull out in favor of the strike; circulation plummets as the public supports the strike. The strikers engage in vandalism and murder. No violence is committed against the strikers—not even a threat of violence, or murmurs of retaliation.
Wow, this has to be the most realistic strike in fiction, ever.
After three weeks, Wynand slips out of the building to visit Roark, who tells him not to give in.
After a few more weeks, the paper's board of directors meets. The directors complain that Wynand is engaged in some sort of crusade which will destroy the paper. After much discussion, Scarret suggests a compromise with the strikers: Rehire everyone but Toohey, and take an anti-Roark editorial stance. Exhausted, Wynand agrees.
Leaving Scarret in charge of the paper, Wynand wanders the streets of New York. Eventually the morning edition of the Banner is published, including an editorial by Wynand, denouncing Roark. (It is from Roark's first trial, long ago.) Wynand realizes that as a publisher he had subverted any power he might have had by catering to the prejudices of the great unwashed. The mindless mobs were his boss. Wynand looks around and realizes he's in Hell's Kitchen. I never left, he thinks.
He sees a copy of the Banner on the ground. Roark's picture is on the front page. Someone has trod upon the paper; there is the mark of a rubber heel across Roark's face.
OH MY GOD HAVEN'T I SUFFERED ENOUGH?
Just four chapters to go.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
The Fountainhead: Howard Roark: 14
Toohey visits Keating, who has refused to talk to the press since Roark's arrest. Toohey: So you think you can help Roark by being silent? I can make you talk. Who designed Cortlandt Homes? Keating: I did. Toohey: Let me be clear. My goal is to send Roark to prison, where he'll have to obey other people's orders for the first time in his life. It'll destroy him. Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! Keating: Eek! Toohey: Now—who designed Cortlandt Homes?
Keating pulls his copy of the agreement with Roark out of a dresser drawer and hands it to Toohey. Toohey: Excellent! And just in time for my six-page monologue!
And Toohey explains himself. He is out for power; he wants to rule the world. That's why he promotes altruism—because no one can be perfectly altruistic, and people will feel rotten about themselves when they fail to be selfless. And that's why he promotes mediocre people—so people will lose a sense of what is truly great. That's why he teaches people to laugh at everything—so nothing will be sacred. Don't let people be happy; take away what fulfills them. Urge people to ignore reason and try to intuit things; non-thinking people are easier to rule. Promote collectivism and deny the individual! That will kill men's souls. Ha! Now you know me in all my delicious evilness, but you will continue to obey me because you've been stripped of your ideals, and there's nothing else to do.
Man, I'd hate it if someone visited my home and talked like that.
Keating pulls his copy of the agreement with Roark out of a dresser drawer and hands it to Toohey. Toohey: Excellent! And just in time for my six-page monologue!
And Toohey explains himself. He is out for power; he wants to rule the world. That's why he promotes altruism—because no one can be perfectly altruistic, and people will feel rotten about themselves when they fail to be selfless. And that's why he promotes mediocre people—so people will lose a sense of what is truly great. That's why he teaches people to laugh at everything—so nothing will be sacred. Don't let people be happy; take away what fulfills them. Urge people to ignore reason and try to intuit things; non-thinking people are easier to rule. Promote collectivism and deny the individual! That will kill men's souls. Ha! Now you know me in all my delicious evilness, but you will continue to obey me because you've been stripped of your ideals, and there's nothing else to do.
Man, I'd hate it if someone visited my home and talked like that.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
The Fountainhead: Howard Roark: 11-13
Wynand talks Roark into taking some time off. They take Wynand's yacht for a three-month cruise in the South Pacific. Sorry, Dominique, NO GIRLZ ALOWD.
Roark hops into the ocean for a swim. Wynand congratulates himself for his tremendous moral fortitude in not casting off and leaving Roark in the ocean (not out of any animosity toward Roark, but just because he has the power to do so, to abandon the man mid-ocean; let's all pat ourselves on the back for not being cold-blooded killers, shall we?). This is Wynand grading himself on the curve.
Wynand talks about his newspaper empire. He has published crap, and editorialized idiotic positions, just to curry favor with the world, and increase his power. For so subjugating his own ego, he should be called a self-sacrificing saint. He then goes on to criticize Keating, and the ostentation rich, for kowtowing to the opinions of others instead of following their own egos. Wait, what?
Competence is a fundamental virtue. Some try to push love or charity as values, but these things are inferior to competence.
The true reality is the self. "Second-handers" imagine reality to lie in relationships with others. This is emptiness.
OK, a little food for thought here, but mostly food for poisoning rats.
The vacationers return to New York. Roark sees a newspaper story about Cortlandt Homes which lists Gordon Prescott and Gus Webb as associate designers. Alarm bells go off.
Toohey had insinuated the two into the project, and they began to make little changes—and some not so little. A bureaucrat had demanded that a gymnasium be added to the project, even though there were low-cost gyms available nearby. Other modifications were suggested—a meeting hall, a theater. Prescott and Webb came up with small aesthetic changes. All added to the cost of the project. Roark's beautiful design and low-cost aesthetic were gone, kablooey.
Roark calls on Dominique: I need your help. Find some public event to attend Monday night; make sure the event is at such a place that the route from there to your home goes by the Cortlandt Homes construction site. Fix things so that your drive home takes you by the site at 11:30, and have your car run out of gas right there. Ask the night watchman at the site to go for gas. After he leaves, hide in a trench. Then when the time is right—you'll know—climb out of the trench and get back in what's left of your car. Pretend that you've been there all along.
She follows his instructions, except that she stands up in the trench too early, and flying glass from the explosion (come on, you knew Roark was going to blow the project up) severs an artery. She gets into the smashed car, bleeding, and is found and rushed to the hospital after losing a lot of blood. She survives.
Roark is found near the plunger that set off the explosion. He tells a policeman to arrest him, but otherwise remains silent. Wynand bails him out and asks him in private, did you do this? Duh.
Roark knew that Dominique would want to run off with him after his release on bail. That's why he enlisted her in the plan: With her involved so publicly in the explosion, trying to run off with Roark would only throw suspicion on her. In other words, she has to stay loyal to Wynand (who still has no clue about the past relationship between Roark and Dominique).
Writing in New Frontiers, Toohey demands Roark's execution (for destroying property and injuring one bystander?). There is a public outcry. And here Rand trots out all her favorite targets, the liberal critics who care ostentatiously about the "little people," all demanding Roark's blood.
Wynand decides to cash in all this power he's accumulated to shape public opinion. He throws all the Wynand papers into a campaign to defend Roark. But instead, public indignation is turned against Wynand. How dare this yellow journalist defend a terrorist!
Wynand defends Roark to his rich friends, but they turn their back on him. On the street, a woman throws rotten vegetables at him.
Toohey tells Scarret it's time to make their move—time to take over the Wynand syndicate!
Roark hops into the ocean for a swim. Wynand congratulates himself for his tremendous moral fortitude in not casting off and leaving Roark in the ocean (not out of any animosity toward Roark, but just because he has the power to do so, to abandon the man mid-ocean; let's all pat ourselves on the back for not being cold-blooded killers, shall we?). This is Wynand grading himself on the curve.
Wynand talks about his newspaper empire. He has published crap, and editorialized idiotic positions, just to curry favor with the world, and increase his power. For so subjugating his own ego, he should be called a self-sacrificing saint. He then goes on to criticize Keating, and the ostentation rich, for kowtowing to the opinions of others instead of following their own egos. Wait, what?
Competence is a fundamental virtue. Some try to push love or charity as values, but these things are inferior to competence.
The true reality is the self. "Second-handers" imagine reality to lie in relationships with others. This is emptiness.
OK, a little food for thought here, but mostly food for poisoning rats.
The vacationers return to New York. Roark sees a newspaper story about Cortlandt Homes which lists Gordon Prescott and Gus Webb as associate designers. Alarm bells go off.
Toohey had insinuated the two into the project, and they began to make little changes—and some not so little. A bureaucrat had demanded that a gymnasium be added to the project, even though there were low-cost gyms available nearby. Other modifications were suggested—a meeting hall, a theater. Prescott and Webb came up with small aesthetic changes. All added to the cost of the project. Roark's beautiful design and low-cost aesthetic were gone, kablooey.
Roark calls on Dominique: I need your help. Find some public event to attend Monday night; make sure the event is at such a place that the route from there to your home goes by the Cortlandt Homes construction site. Fix things so that your drive home takes you by the site at 11:30, and have your car run out of gas right there. Ask the night watchman at the site to go for gas. After he leaves, hide in a trench. Then when the time is right—you'll know—climb out of the trench and get back in what's left of your car. Pretend that you've been there all along.
She follows his instructions, except that she stands up in the trench too early, and flying glass from the explosion (come on, you knew Roark was going to blow the project up) severs an artery. She gets into the smashed car, bleeding, and is found and rushed to the hospital after losing a lot of blood. She survives.
Roark is found near the plunger that set off the explosion. He tells a policeman to arrest him, but otherwise remains silent. Wynand bails him out and asks him in private, did you do this? Duh.
Roark knew that Dominique would want to run off with him after his release on bail. That's why he enlisted her in the plan: With her involved so publicly in the explosion, trying to run off with Roark would only throw suspicion on her. In other words, she has to stay loyal to Wynand (who still has no clue about the past relationship between Roark and Dominique).
Writing in New Frontiers, Toohey demands Roark's execution (for destroying property and injuring one bystander?). There is a public outcry. And here Rand trots out all her favorite targets, the liberal critics who care ostentatiously about the "little people," all demanding Roark's blood.
Wynand decides to cash in all this power he's accumulated to shape public opinion. He throws all the Wynand papers into a campaign to defend Roark. But instead, public indignation is turned against Wynand. How dare this yellow journalist defend a terrorist!
Wynand defends Roark to his rich friends, but they turn their back on him. On the street, a woman throws rotten vegetables at him.
Toohey tells Scarret it's time to make their move—time to take over the Wynand syndicate!
Monday, April 18, 2011
The Fountainhead: Howard Roark: 9, 10
The Wynand house is built, and Wynand, Dominique, and Roark luxuriate in it. The even seem to enjoy the natural surroundings. Yes! I, too, am shocked!
Roark would like to stay and play, but he has a secret project that's keeping him busy busy busy.
Keating presents Roark's plans for Cortlandt Homes as his own to Toohey. Toohey: Well done!
Wynand sees a copy of the awarded design for Cortlandt Homes in the Banner. He recognizes it as Roark's work. So does Dominique. Roark insists he didn't design the project, and he'll sue anyone who says he did.
Alvah Scarret is getting uppity with Wynand.
Wynand has ordered the Banner to puff Roark. Because it's the Banner, this actually hurts Roark's reputation. Heller complains to Roark about this. Roark is unmoved.
Wynand takes Roark to a run-down, two-block by five-block section of Hell's Kitchen that he bought long ago. This to be the site of the Wynand building, the tallest and awesomest skyscraper in New York. He wants Roark to build it.
One day Keating runs into Katie. Awkward! They go to a quiet sandwich shop to talk. He feels bad about jilting her. Yes, it hurt her terribly. She's over that now. They reminisce. She leaves.
Roark would like to stay and play, but he has a secret project that's keeping him busy busy busy.
Keating presents Roark's plans for Cortlandt Homes as his own to Toohey. Toohey: Well done!
Wynand sees a copy of the awarded design for Cortlandt Homes in the Banner. He recognizes it as Roark's work. So does Dominique. Roark insists he didn't design the project, and he'll sue anyone who says he did.
Alvah Scarret is getting uppity with Wynand.
Wynand has ordered the Banner to puff Roark. Because it's the Banner, this actually hurts Roark's reputation. Heller complains to Roark about this. Roark is unmoved.
Wynand takes Roark to a run-down, two-block by five-block section of Hell's Kitchen that he bought long ago. This to be the site of the Wynand building, the tallest and awesomest skyscraper in New York. He wants Roark to build it.
One day Keating runs into Katie. Awkward! They go to a quiet sandwich shop to talk. He feels bad about jilting her. Yes, it hurt her terribly. She's over that now. They reminisce. She leaves.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
The Fountainhead: Howard Roark: 7, 8
Keating & Dumont is in crisis; the firm is no longer in favor. The exposition was a flop. The A.G.A. has been supplanted by the Council of American Builders. Keating's mother has moved back in with him, at his request. He has aged.
One thing gives Keating peace (though not happiness). From time to time he goes to a private place, a shack in the hills, and paints, albeit amateurishly. This was the hobby he loved, the hobby he gave up for architecture.
Keating's partner, Neil Dumont, urges him to try to get the commission for Cortlandt Homes, a low-income housing project. Keating's old advocate Ellsworth Toohey may be in a position to influence the award.
Keating goes to Toohey to ask for help. Toohey explains that things change. The only way Keating & Dumont can get Toohey's backing is by submitting the best proposal. —Don't you know that individuals don't count, Peter?
The only hope is to once again ask for Howard Roark's help.
Roark's composure slips momentarily when he sees Keating, who is thirty-nine (Roark is thirty-seven) but looks much, much older. Keating: I have to face it—I'm a parasite, and I've always been one. I've always relied on your ideas, or other people's. I can't design Cortlandt Homes on my own. Is there any way you could design the project, which would then have my name put on it? Roark: I'll think about it. Let's talk tomorrow.
The next day, at Roark's home—
Roark: I'll do it, but only if I'm sure you understand my motivation. This isn't a favor for you; I am an egotist, not an altruist.
(after much talk)
Keating: You don't want the money, you don't want the glory, you aren't in it to provide for the poor. You want to do this because you love solving the problem of providing housing at low cost. You want to do this because you love the work. (And if you bid on the project directly, Toohey would block you.)
Roark: YES!!!!!! You understand!!!!! Let's have a drink. The usual conditions apply—no interfering with my design. You will be hard-pressed by bureaucrats to alter the plans, but you must stand firm.
Keating: You have my word.
Roark: Then sign this contract. If you deviate from my design, I'll make the contract public and ruin your reputation. But if the project is built according to my specifications, I'll give you my copy of the contract, and you can destroy it.
Keating (after signing): Now ... could you have a look at these?
He shows Roark his recent paintings. Roark looks at them for a while, then says quietly, "It's too late, Peter." Keating leaves, and Roark experiences something horrible he has never felt before: pity. What a monstrous sensation, he thinks.
One thing gives Keating peace (though not happiness). From time to time he goes to a private place, a shack in the hills, and paints, albeit amateurishly. This was the hobby he loved, the hobby he gave up for architecture.
Keating's partner, Neil Dumont, urges him to try to get the commission for Cortlandt Homes, a low-income housing project. Keating's old advocate Ellsworth Toohey may be in a position to influence the award.
Keating goes to Toohey to ask for help. Toohey explains that things change. The only way Keating & Dumont can get Toohey's backing is by submitting the best proposal. —Don't you know that individuals don't count, Peter?
The only hope is to once again ask for Howard Roark's help.
Roark's composure slips momentarily when he sees Keating, who is thirty-nine (Roark is thirty-seven) but looks much, much older. Keating: I have to face it—I'm a parasite, and I've always been one. I've always relied on your ideas, or other people's. I can't design Cortlandt Homes on my own. Is there any way you could design the project, which would then have my name put on it? Roark: I'll think about it. Let's talk tomorrow.
The next day, at Roark's home—
Roark: I'll do it, but only if I'm sure you understand my motivation. This isn't a favor for you; I am an egotist, not an altruist.
(after much talk)
Keating: You don't want the money, you don't want the glory, you aren't in it to provide for the poor. You want to do this because you love solving the problem of providing housing at low cost. You want to do this because you love the work. (And if you bid on the project directly, Toohey would block you.)
Roark: YES!!!!!! You understand!!!!! Let's have a drink. The usual conditions apply—no interfering with my design. You will be hard-pressed by bureaucrats to alter the plans, but you must stand firm.
Keating: You have my word.
Roark: Then sign this contract. If you deviate from my design, I'll make the contract public and ruin your reputation. But if the project is built according to my specifications, I'll give you my copy of the contract, and you can destroy it.
Keating (after signing): Now ... could you have a look at these?
He shows Roark his recent paintings. Roark looks at them for a while, then says quietly, "It's too late, Peter." Keating leaves, and Roark experiences something horrible he has never felt before: pity. What a monstrous sensation, he thinks.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
The Fountainhead: Howard Roark: 5, 6
Wynand and Roark have more conversations and continue bonding. Wynand thinks the people who read the Banner are fools. Wynand likes power. Roark avoids power; once he was offered power over a woman, and he refused it. Wynand hates people who are trying to find themselves.
Dominique defers to their friendship, her deference a sort of self-discipline.
Toohey holds a conversation with various rich friends. They kick around ideas: Freedom is achieved by total compulsion. Unselfishness is the greatest virtue.
One of Toohey's friends, Jessica Pratt, devoted her life to caring for her sister Renée, who eventually married Homer Slottern, owner of a chain of department stores. Renée is a slug.
Eve Layton is married to Mitchell Layton, the rich fellow Toohey talked into investing in the Banner. Eve's mission is to be avant garde, a few steps ahead of everyone else. Her husband hates her. Eve describes all of her philosophical conclusions as self-evident. There are no persons, just a collective; that's self-evident.
Sometimes I wonder where Ayn Rand came up with all these people who are so against freedom. Then today I was reminded that Rand grew up in the Soviet Union.
Oh, that's where.
Dominique defers to their friendship, her deference a sort of self-discipline.
Toohey holds a conversation with various rich friends. They kick around ideas: Freedom is achieved by total compulsion. Unselfishness is the greatest virtue.
One of Toohey's friends, Jessica Pratt, devoted her life to caring for her sister Renée, who eventually married Homer Slottern, owner of a chain of department stores. Renée is a slug.
Eve Layton is married to Mitchell Layton, the rich fellow Toohey talked into investing in the Banner. Eve's mission is to be avant garde, a few steps ahead of everyone else. Her husband hates her. Eve describes all of her philosophical conclusions as self-evident. There are no persons, just a collective; that's self-evident.
Sometimes I wonder where Ayn Rand came up with all these people who are so against freedom. Then today I was reminded that Rand grew up in the Soviet Union.
Oh, that's where.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
The Fountainhead: Howard Roark: 4
Wynand reveals to Dominique that he is having a house built for them; that the architect is Howard Roark; and that he has invited Roark over for dinner. Dominique manages to put on a façade of normalcy during the dinner; internally, she is dazed. She also doesn't believe the house will ever be built.
Five days later Wynand visits Roark in his office, and they chat amiably. On the spur of the moment, Wynand invites Roark to dine out, then phones Dominique to let her know he won't be home for dinner; he's having dinner with Roark.
Dominique has been fighting the urge to visit Roark herself.
At the Banner, Wynand instructs Toohey to never mention Roark in his column again.
Five days later Wynand visits Roark in his office, and they chat amiably. On the spur of the moment, Wynand invites Roark to dine out, then phones Dominique to let her know he won't be home for dinner; he's having dinner with Roark.
Dominique has been fighting the urge to visit Roark herself.
At the Banner, Wynand instructs Toohey to never mention Roark in his column again.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
The Fountainhead: Howard Roark: 1-3
I have to admit, Parts 2 and 3 were a bit heavy going, with twists and turns that are either illogical or iron-bound by logic. The moderately heavy philosophizing didn't help, perhaps because I don't relate much to an outlook that proclaims, You can tell I love mankind because I consider most men to be dreck. Happily, the beginning of the final part is refreshing.
We start in 1935, with an introduction to a Pennsylvania resort that Howard Roark has nearly completed. It sounds like a wonderful place, with well-spaced private cottages that complement the terrain. Then we backtrack to 1933, when Roark is given the commission.
He has heard about plans for a resort in the Monadnock Valley and pays a visit to the leader of the project, one Caleb Bradley. Roark quickly sizes Bradley up as the type who would never go for Roark's sort of work, but he is surprised when he is called back for an interview with the board. He lays out his vision of a resort for the middle class, with inexpensively made pools and tennis courts and plenty of privacy. Roark makes his usual demand of total control over the design, and he is sure these jokers will turn him down; but to his surprise they sign him up and send him on his way to build the resort. He gathers his friends, including Mike and Mallory, and the resort becomes a labor of love. All the while, Mallory is suspicious. But the resort opens to little fanfare and quickly becomes a success. Roark is called off by Kent Lansing to complete the Aquitania Hotel in New York. And other commissions come along.
Then the Monadnock bubble bursts. The board had sold shares of the project amounting to 200% ownership, and then they had hired an architect with a history of eccentricity, failures, and thwarted projects. The man was sure to fail, and no one was more appalled than Caleb Bradley when his venture became a success. Hmm, I wonder if Mel Brooks read The Fountainhead?
With the unexpected success of Roark's resort, his architectural genius begins to get recognition. Austen Heller writes a laudatory article about the project, and Roark is recognized by the A.G.A. and even gets an exhibit in the Museum of the Future. He is invited to join a group of architects designing the 1937 World's Fair, but he insists on designing the entire exhibition himself; which is to say, he is passed over.
But then Gail Wynand invites him to design a country home for himself and his wife Dominique. Roark goes to Wynand's office, and the two übermenschen bond. After the meeting, Wynand has an aide pull together all clippings published about Roark by the Banner.
They meet again on the land where the home is to be built. Wynand: I'm not going to apologize for the hatchet job the Banner did on the Stoddard Temple. Roark: No prob. Wynand: Really? Roark: Really-dealy.
They bond some more. Wynand even unwinds and talks about his childhood, and the time he was beaten to within an inch of his life.
A month later, Roark has his drawings ready. Wynand is more formal; he has swallowed any traces of any bonding which might have happened between the two of them. He explains the brutal facts of life to Roark. There are two alternatives. One, Roark declines the job, in which case Wynand uses his clout to make sure Roark never gets a commission again—never even gets a job as a quarryman again. Two, Roark accepts the job to build the home in the design of Roark's sole choosing, and he also signs an exclusive contract with Wynand obliging him to design future buildings in styles specified by other interested parties; Roark will be making Tudor, Renaissance, and Gothic building according to other men's directions. Roark says sure, I can do that, and by the way, here's what I will end up building for your country home—drawing a hybrid monstrosity of styles that only the most tone-deaf of architectural critics could applaud. Wynand: Wow! That took guts! How do you know I won't accept your garish design and bind you to horrible labors for the rest of your life? Roark: I trust your integrity. Wynand: Ha! I have no integrity. Roark: Yes you do. Wynand: (folds)
So Roark agrees to build a home for Wynand and Dominique, and he will not be bound by any contract afterward. Wynand: Come have dinner with us tonight. I haven't told Dominique anything about the house or who is building it; it will be a surprise. Roark: Yes it will.
We start in 1935, with an introduction to a Pennsylvania resort that Howard Roark has nearly completed. It sounds like a wonderful place, with well-spaced private cottages that complement the terrain. Then we backtrack to 1933, when Roark is given the commission.
He has heard about plans for a resort in the Monadnock Valley and pays a visit to the leader of the project, one Caleb Bradley. Roark quickly sizes Bradley up as the type who would never go for Roark's sort of work, but he is surprised when he is called back for an interview with the board. He lays out his vision of a resort for the middle class, with inexpensively made pools and tennis courts and plenty of privacy. Roark makes his usual demand of total control over the design, and he is sure these jokers will turn him down; but to his surprise they sign him up and send him on his way to build the resort. He gathers his friends, including Mike and Mallory, and the resort becomes a labor of love. All the while, Mallory is suspicious. But the resort opens to little fanfare and quickly becomes a success. Roark is called off by Kent Lansing to complete the Aquitania Hotel in New York. And other commissions come along.
Then the Monadnock bubble bursts. The board had sold shares of the project amounting to 200% ownership, and then they had hired an architect with a history of eccentricity, failures, and thwarted projects. The man was sure to fail, and no one was more appalled than Caleb Bradley when his venture became a success. Hmm, I wonder if Mel Brooks read The Fountainhead?
With the unexpected success of Roark's resort, his architectural genius begins to get recognition. Austen Heller writes a laudatory article about the project, and Roark is recognized by the A.G.A. and even gets an exhibit in the Museum of the Future. He is invited to join a group of architects designing the 1937 World's Fair, but he insists on designing the entire exhibition himself; which is to say, he is passed over.
But then Gail Wynand invites him to design a country home for himself and his wife Dominique. Roark goes to Wynand's office, and the two übermenschen bond. After the meeting, Wynand has an aide pull together all clippings published about Roark by the Banner.
They meet again on the land where the home is to be built. Wynand: I'm not going to apologize for the hatchet job the Banner did on the Stoddard Temple. Roark: No prob. Wynand: Really? Roark: Really-dealy.
They bond some more. Wynand even unwinds and talks about his childhood, and the time he was beaten to within an inch of his life.
A month later, Roark has his drawings ready. Wynand is more formal; he has swallowed any traces of any bonding which might have happened between the two of them. He explains the brutal facts of life to Roark. There are two alternatives. One, Roark declines the job, in which case Wynand uses his clout to make sure Roark never gets a commission again—never even gets a job as a quarryman again. Two, Roark accepts the job to build the home in the design of Roark's sole choosing, and he also signs an exclusive contract with Wynand obliging him to design future buildings in styles specified by other interested parties; Roark will be making Tudor, Renaissance, and Gothic building according to other men's directions. Roark says sure, I can do that, and by the way, here's what I will end up building for your country home—drawing a hybrid monstrosity of styles that only the most tone-deaf of architectural critics could applaud. Wynand: Wow! That took guts! How do you know I won't accept your garish design and bind you to horrible labors for the rest of your life? Roark: I trust your integrity. Wynand: Ha! I have no integrity. Roark: Yes you do. Wynand: (folds)
So Roark agrees to build a home for Wynand and Dominique, and he will not be bound by any contract afterward. Wynand: Come have dinner with us tonight. I haven't told Dominique anything about the house or who is building it; it will be a surprise. Roark: Yes it will.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
The Fountainhead: Gail Wynand: 8-9
Wynand and Dominique spend the two weeks after their wedding in his penthouse. Talking, mostly. Then he returns to work at the Banner. Scarret notices that he is happy; Toohey says, too bad.
A popular columnist at the Banner, Sally Brent, decides to disobey the boycott and shows up at the penthouse to interview Dominique, who gives her lots of "He's so dreamy" material, which Brent fashions into a profile of the couple. A copy of the draft article is sent to Wynand. Brent is fired. She pens an article about the Wynands that is published in New Frontiers.
Dominique places her copy of the "Fire the bitch" cable on her mirror. When Wynand sees it, she tells him Toohey gave it to her. She can't gauge his reaction, other than to observe his continued interest in the piece of paper.
Dominique gets tickets for Wynand and herself to a horrible play being puffed by Fougler. They sit through the whole thing. The audience is bullied by critical opinion into laughing at the dreadful comedy; Fougler has claimed a person's worth can be measured by their ability to appreciate the play. Dominique sees the play as an abomination created by the Banner; afterward, she tweaks Wynand: This is your life's achievement! Wynand: I can think of something worse—having a good play performed in front of the crowd of jackasses we sat among tonight.
This is an ongoing theme of the book: There are a few great men and women, and the rest of the people of the world are unworthy. Nice. I'd like to see that in needlepoint.
On another occasion, Wynand tells Dominique: What you really love is integrity. I look for opportunities to show it doesn't exist. What I admire is power.
Gazing at the skyline from their penthouse one night, Wynand says to Dominique: Some day I will have a Wynand Building erected to house the Banner. It will be a great achievement. But I'm not ready for that yet. Dominique: Do you know what you need to do right now? Fire Ellsworth Toohey. He's scheming to gain control over the Wynand newspaper syndicate. From there he plans to take over the world.
I am not making this up. And so far as I can tell, the only way Dominique could know this is if she is reading The Fountainhead. Yeah, that must be it.
Wynand: Wha? I'm the master-of-the-universe type, not Toohey. Fuhgeddaboudit.
And still later Dominique asks Wynand's forgiveness for what she is doing to him. She doesn't love him. Wynand: No worries. I love you.
Dominique crumples up the "Fire the bitch" cable and throws it out.
A popular columnist at the Banner, Sally Brent, decides to disobey the boycott and shows up at the penthouse to interview Dominique, who gives her lots of "He's so dreamy" material, which Brent fashions into a profile of the couple. A copy of the draft article is sent to Wynand. Brent is fired. She pens an article about the Wynands that is published in New Frontiers.
Dominique places her copy of the "Fire the bitch" cable on her mirror. When Wynand sees it, she tells him Toohey gave it to her. She can't gauge his reaction, other than to observe his continued interest in the piece of paper.
Dominique gets tickets for Wynand and herself to a horrible play being puffed by Fougler. They sit through the whole thing. The audience is bullied by critical opinion into laughing at the dreadful comedy; Fougler has claimed a person's worth can be measured by their ability to appreciate the play. Dominique sees the play as an abomination created by the Banner; afterward, she tweaks Wynand: This is your life's achievement! Wynand: I can think of something worse—having a good play performed in front of the crowd of jackasses we sat among tonight.
This is an ongoing theme of the book: There are a few great men and women, and the rest of the people of the world are unworthy. Nice. I'd like to see that in needlepoint.
On another occasion, Wynand tells Dominique: What you really love is integrity. I look for opportunities to show it doesn't exist. What I admire is power.
Gazing at the skyline from their penthouse one night, Wynand says to Dominique: Some day I will have a Wynand Building erected to house the Banner. It will be a great achievement. But I'm not ready for that yet. Dominique: Do you know what you need to do right now? Fire Ellsworth Toohey. He's scheming to gain control over the Wynand newspaper syndicate. From there he plans to take over the world.
I am not making this up. And so far as I can tell, the only way Dominique could know this is if she is reading The Fountainhead. Yeah, that must be it.
Wynand: Wha? I'm the master-of-the-universe type, not Toohey. Fuhgeddaboudit.
And still later Dominique asks Wynand's forgiveness for what she is doing to him. She doesn't love him. Wynand: No worries. I love you.
Dominique crumples up the "Fire the bitch" cable and throws it out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)