In which FHC swears he'll never read a book ever again

I am almost done with the Fountainhead by Ayn Rand that my ex-roommate dismissed yesterday with a contemptuous “that’s cute but you’ll soon re-discover reality”…just in case the rest of humanity hadn’t noticed that there is a little disconnect between the typical Ayn Rand’s character and your average preachy JR’s drunk. I love to get political lectures from people who outlawed Communism and still really believe that there is a significant difference between democrats and republicans. I mean in my country when we vote, we are always one step away from a wide-scale genocide, the nationalization of private property or the withdrawal from the EU. Here national elections are mostly about tax breaks for nest-building petit bourgeois, social security and the pledge of allegiance. Sure lately Democrats like to think that the difference between them and Republicans is that Republicans are warriors but we all know that the war in Iraq is not about political parties, it’s mostly about personalities and immaturity. Americans have been for quite a long time uni-thinkers and parties are just here for the democratic decorum. And in any case, more than a political essay, the fountainhead sounds like a celebration of the United States.

Anyway the damn book was recommended to me by LL who prides himself of not having any emotion besides hunger and is also a huge closeted-republican who deeply believes in Capitalism, individualism and immigrant’s oppression as well as homophobia. All the values that Rand apparently shared. You can imagine that for someone who sees himself as one of the lucky chosen ones and once told me that “Tax is robbery”, "the virtue of selfishness" is an appealing concept. The only problem is that he did not mention to me that this book has the lowest credibility imaginable: even the gays make fun of it, even people who cannot spell her name make fun of it. I believe that it’s because she is too mainstream, has Russian origins and is a feminist: above everything else the gays hate mainstream stuff and Russian women. Apparently, I spent three months or so reading a book (You should read the thing…it’s not easy) which I cannot even use for small talk purposes to get laid at gay parties. I am pissed off.

Comments

[LL]

It wasn't so much "recommended" as left behind with some other pieces of dirty laundry, tennis rackets, and flip-flops.

[Old Fagat]

We kind of really liked that book.

your sad little situation of not getting laid has nothing to do with what books you are reading, or in your case, what books you are just carrying around for three months. anyway, we all know that you only try to get laid by cracked out twinks who haven't touched a book since they dropped out of 8th grade.

[LL]

This is more Kevinesque...

[David D]

I actually loved that book and am always impressed when people can look beyond the author's weird personal musings and just enjoy the passion of the story.

[mp]

back when I was a comp. lit. major, every year there were one or two straight girls or homo boys who ardently loved Rand and that book. The rest of us usual mocked them until they transferred to the english dept. and/or developed an eating disorder.

[New Fagat]

We read the book before we knew you, but in our mind Ellsworth Toohey looked kind of like you.

[sharkey]

this gay loves all slavic women...except for the ukrainians (except again for daria the werbowy)

[Ray]

Back when I was twelve (which wasn't too long ago) my father made me read that book. I remember being really pissed off at not being able to see all the "remarkable" buildings Roark designed. Being the good little son of my capitalist father and narcissistic mother, one could not expect me to do anything other than relate myself to the tragicly handsome and bold hero.
As for not being able to use this as amo at parties... don't cut yourself short. I can think of nothing more pretentious (ie fun) than discussing Ayn Rand; especially when you know over half the people in the conversation (of course the more adamant half) will not even have read the book, but will simply remember that great art deco cover that has intimidated them with it's sheer width for so long.
Finally, je ne sais pas que tu es francais. C'est une tragédie que je parle francais comme je mange mon hamburger: butchered, chopped and covered in mayonnaise.
Maybe you can help me learn before I go to Paris next semester?