The Fountainhead

A book that’s like a casket with a double—and maybe even a triple—bottom. Alice Rosenbaum (Ayn Rand), our former compatriot brought up in the traditions of Russian culture, is not simple enough to be understood unambiguously: one thing is said, another is thought, and a third is written—so you understand it however you can.

This book is not about individualism. It’s about genius. No—about an honest, smart, strong person who cannot go along with society, who cannot sell their gift for a bowl of lentil soup. The name of this person is Howard Roark, an architect. His opposite is Peter Keating, also an architect—who doesn’t disdain plagiarism, and canadying, beeping, being hypocritical, and doing nasty things.

His enemy is Ellsworth Toohey, a journalist, a demagogue, a socialist, a provocateur. His friend is Gail Wynand, a magnate and publisher—someone who climbed to the top of society from the bottom.

And his love—there’s one common love among them—is Dominik Francon. And the most important hero is life itself, which powerfully draws all five into its orbit, pushing them into different situations—bringing together, dividing, demanding the maximum strain of strength, mind, and honesty from each. The main theme of the novel is the path of talent among the crowd: a difficult path, a path of growth, of spiritual generosity and nobility. Roark’s path.

Opposite to it is Keating’s path— the path of accommodation and lies. The path that leads to downfall. Hostile is the path of the demagogue Toohey, a parasite feeding on the ideas of mercy and socialism. His face hides familiar little moustaches and bangs—those moustaches of a Führer. The path of Wynand is close as well: he too is an exceptionally gifted man… But Dominik…