The Fountainhead

In startling contrast, is the grand, inspirational imagery of The Fountainhead, where the preferred movement is to the vertical, rather than the consequences of the horizontal, shown in the decaying urban sprawl of Wise Blood’s Taulkinham.

Perhaps following the depressing, though darkly comic read that was Wise Blood, against my pre-conceived judgment to dislike Ayn Rand and some of the ideals she stands for, I found the individualism purported in The Fountainhead to be inspirational. Rand makes a point for not following the examples of others and supports the idea of an unflinching stoic subsistence of an individual of his own philosophy, which he knows to be the only one he should follow for happiness and fulfilment. I say “he” when describing the Rand’s ideas in The Fountainhead because throughout the novel it is obvious that Rand classifies all meritable qualities of admirable characters as having a basis in masculinised power and righteousness. Without being vulgar, all of Rand’s analogies of individual success as created by an objective will stand erect: her statuesque Mr. and Mrs. Roark, and the skyscrapers she praises as symbols of unadulterated, unique expressions of the will of an individual.

Here lies what I believe to be a problem with the book. The characters, whose form, qualities and dialogue are constructed as analogies for whatever role or social performance they play, make decisions that are obvious to those who were able to define their personalities within the first page of their being mentioned. In this way, The Fountainhead comes off feeling like a game of chess: it is clear what role the pieces play, so it is mere playing through of a game that sees King Howard Roark move his ideology into a check mate.

The obviousness and shallowness of the characters helps Rand write such a long story in which her philosophy is put forward, but alas, the interactions become staid and slightly predictable, with some exceptions. Rand is successful, however, in cramming her ideas into a narrative context manipulated in a way that proves Objectivism feasible, achievable, and meritorious. Based on her own ideals, which are outlined a little more succinctly than in The Fountainhead in this very interesting 1959 interview with Mike Wallace, one gets an idea that Howard Roark is indirectly the author surrogate, or that she is the ideological love-child of Dominique and Howard – so much so that you feel her time in Hollywood has benefited her in becoming her own publicist.

As mentioned above regarding the grand span of the text, breaking into the lengthy description Rand thrives upon in The Fountainhead made me feel somewhat queasy, which is unusual because I have not been particularly averse to indulgent wordiness before, but something about Rand’s writing made me feel as if there was a lot to digest. Rand sets scenes intricately, and at numerous points branches out into overextended descriptions of sets, easily characterized as the hallmark of a previous screenwriter. It is like words are not enough for Rand; she needs her readers to ‘see’ exactly what she wants you to.

In reading the book over time, I described it differently many times. I’ve called it a well-written novel, a transport page-turner, a brochure, a television series, and a soap opera. I’ve said in its length and aesthetic it would make a presentable television series. The book’s predictability aids this, and makes the reading of it somewhat enjoyable for me, as you read on just to see if what you predicted eventuates, like a soap opera. It’s like being hooked on HBO. However, obviousness also means that when you are looking for surprise, it is a long journey to find sparse elements of it.