In a parallel universe, I graduate from my university with honours in architecture, instead of graduating in business and social sciences. Not gonna lie that buildings still interest me, that architecture is an all-important profession that balances technical knowledge, artistry and bravado all into one. It is a profession that makes something out of nothing — mere lines on a piece of paper turned into a tangible building which people live, work and procreate within.
As to why Rand selected architecture as opposed to other disciplines such as cookery, tailoring or cockroach hunting is speculative. She had a great respect for Frank Lloyd Wright and we can see resemblances of his creations in Howard Roark’s opus. Coincidentally, Frank Lloyd Wright is as douchey as Howard Roark, though his creations may not be completely his own, as Roark’s is. But architecture makes for an interesting subject, and much of the concepts of architecture are also transposed into the writing.
A motley crew of one-dimensional characters
Instead of summarising the story, taking a glimpse of the four main characters will give us a better indication of what the book is about. After all, Rand’s stories are chacter-driven, and characters represent the epitome of her philosophy — and the antithesis.
We are quickly introduced to Howard Roark, not too far away from graduation, but refusing to follow the instructions for an assignment from his college. He was expelled for his stubbornness, back out into the streets to pick a job as an unqualified draftsman. He chose to work with Henry Cameron, an old timer whose creations have been much forgotten, but whose creations have always been revered by those who are the tenants of his buildings. Cameron hired Roark on minimum wages, and almost fired him because he saw greatness in Roark and did not want him to stagnate by working under him. Roark kept on until the firm folded.
Along parallel lines, Peter Keating, Roark’s compatriot in college was making headways in the architecture world. He graduated top of the class and accepted an offer from Francon & Heyer which was the most prestigious architecture firm in New York. There’s only one catch though: Peter isn’t really a great architect and he doesn’t even like being an architect. What he can do is to make the right connections, shrug off the obstacles in his way (like his colleagues) and being an absolutely fucking opportunist. He warms up pretty bloody quickly with Peter Francon, his boss and steals his colleague’s work behind his back. His schemes were so elaborate and forward thinking you’d be fooled to think that he can also architect buildings instead of his own career.
Our third prong is Dominique Francon, the firm’s owner and somewhat of a wild child. She’s pretty, like most Rand female protagonists and cold as a Russian shithouse. She’s a columnist for the New York Banner, a somewhat ambiguous newspaper which feed on gossip. She became infatuated with Roark when he worked a labourer when he was down on his luck. And then there’s Ellsworth Toohey… Let’s just say he’s a bit of a cunt and is trying to take over the world with his fake-socialist ideas. He also runs a column in the New York Banner.
The blueprint of Rand’s idealism
It’s Ayn Rand all over again. You’d know what to expect, and if you’d pick up Atlas Shrugged and liked it, then you’d probably pick up The Fountainhead and like it also. Hey, maybe you’d love this better than Atlas Shrugged that maybe is 1200 pages too long. The characters are comparable and moulds of each other. Howard Roark is Henry Rearden — one deals in architecture, the other in steel. Dominique has resemblances and the bitchiness of Dagny Taggart. These Rand protagonists are cold, unwavering, emotionless and infallible.
No matter what hardships that Roark faced, he accepts stoically, adamant that he will get his way eventually. Perhaps there is something to admire in this. Who can resist seeing a man being true to his principles? Some of the best books I’ve ever read are about men battling their principles against a world trying to squash it. But there is something that rubs me the wrong way with how Rand goes about it — it is preachy, there is no middle ground, and if you look beyond her words and your own life experiences, it will all fall apart.
Admittedly, Rand’s philosophy isn’t all unpalatable. Peter Keating is that one guy who doesn’t have a lot of skills, but can manage his career ladder off other people’s works and knowing what to say to the right people. No matter what philosophy you follow, we despise these types of fuck-knuckles. Collectivism and socialism may have the best intentions, but they don’t really drive the world forward. Committees are immovable behemoths that would fuck you in the ass rather than get things done — they are the enemy of the free-spirited genius. Things might be done faster by a single person than a group of rich old, balding men.
However, this friction between the individual and the group in fostering progress is up for debate. People working in groups have done some remarkable things. Just think of your favourite movie, or the time that you delivered an award-winning health and wellness insurance app. Rand’s opposition for collaborative work and reliance on genius is more demanding than your exes asking for their stuff back.
For Rand, the “I” is the most important statement anybody can make, it is earned: a reward for having figured yourself out, your passions, your values and integrity. Once we have found these values then it is up to us to follow our life the way we’ve established it to be, and we cannot be unwavering. But do you know anybody like this? Was Ayn Rand like this? We’re fallible human beings who do irrational things that’s beyond our values. Roark is an ideal, I suppose, but Santa Claus is more believable.
But Roark isn’t really infallible. The dude is a fucking rapist. That whole bit where he goes to Dominique’s ranch and brutally rapes her was a what the fuck moment. And the most fucked up thing was the fact that she accepted it. When they met much later and reignited the sex, she aims to “destroy” him. Every time she drives a client away from him, they would smash. Sure, this is a form of helping him out by filtering out underserving clients, but their relationship is even more messed up than that Fifty Shades of Balls Deep book. In Atlas Shrugged, Dagny Taggart also had that streak of wanting to brutally fucked as by Hank Rearden in its violent animalistic glory. Maybe Rand is putting her fantasies into her characters? I shudder to think about it.
In the end, it is a polarising book (surprise surprise). There is no one or the other, this is George W Bush declaring war on terrorism — if you’re not on our side than you’re against us. Rand is an extremist, and extremists are rather boring if they’re not worrying, and I’ve got other things to worry about than a dead woman’s philosophy.
