“The Fountainhead” of death

I hate Howard Roark.

Strong, mysterious, silent, firm, a dreamer. This is Howard Roark at first look. Actually, the entire magnificence of his personality turns out to be just a desire to build. Through his entire life, he follows that single wish, incapable of understanding the other aspects of life. In order to to be a creator, you have to become a creation.

Roark is a soulless machine which wants to satisfy its needs in the only way it knows. Roark feels apathy towards the world around him and even more towards the people that are a part of it. There is nothing bad in indifference towards mediocrity but the biggest crime is to feel nothing towards greatness.

I despise Howard Roark because he tried to make me love him. I had to love him because he was brave enough to dream. Because he believes that buildings are alive. Because he is different. Because he is strong. But here once again we have to mention the insignificant fact that his soul is dead.

The creator wants to rule over nature. The parasite wants to rule over people.” Those are the words of a man who understands perfectly the nature of the parasite and has no idea what it means to be a creator. To rise by disparaging everything to a pile of metal and bricks is not development but degradation. Only one of his actions managed to win my respect – the blasting of his own building.

But still, Howard Roark is perfect. The only mistake in his character is the ridiculous suggestion of the author that he can feel love.

 

I hate Dominique Francon.

An independent and powerful woman. A woman who in her beauty has reached into the debts of contortion further than anyone else. A woman that destroyed perfection so no one else would be able to see it. This woman became a cheap tramp. I get why she kept hurting Roark and did everything in her power to destroy him. There is no other way to love such a man. But to destroy your own soul for the pathetic feeling which in this novel was going by the name “love”, is absurd.

Dominique turned into a ghost. Into a meaningless shadow, wandering between two powerful men, who do not need her. To let yourself to be tossed around as a simple amusement which quickly becomes unnecessary and vanishes into oblivion is the biggest humiliation. Dominique became a symbol of degradation and terrifying weakness. In the end, the only thing left from her was her obsession with Roark.

 

I hate Gail Wynand.

The poor boy that becomes rich with sweat, tears and hard work. I think it’s about time that I puked. Totally emotionless, he, of course, is a perfect match for Roark and Dominique. The obscure businessman, who is impressed by the personality of the artist. Can it get any more vapid? In his stupidity, Wynand needed fifty years to realize that he has spent his life in a meaningless show-off. I have nothing to say but Bravo! After all, for most people, such a small period of time is extremely insufficient.

Suddenly, he sees the truth and changes his worldview by switching to the side of justice. But this only makes him more pathetic. If you have walked into the kingdom of darkness, at least have the decency to go all the way. Instead, Gail Wynand chooses to squirm like a glowing worm claiming that he is the guiding light.

 

I hate Ellsworth Toohey.

The supreme mind. The great manipulator who chooses to use his talent to… make people even more stupid. In my opinion, they are doing a pretty good job in this area without his help. Ellsworth Toohey uses his power over people to turn everything good in bad and vice versa. He preaches the destruction of individualism and existence in the name of the others. A man can say whatever he wants but not when he knows that people are listening. He, the guide, the supreme leader, feels satisfaction from the opportunity to squish slugs with his boots. The one who falls to the lowest level is the one who has a chance to rise above but chooses to stay at the bottom anyway. And like this isn’t enough, Ellsworth Toohey decides to drag along with him everyone else, including the readers. All that being said, unlike my precious Howard, Gail and Dominique, he knows how to make life a little bit more interesting than a gray square box that has nothing in it.

 

I hate this novel.

An all-consuming, mad hunger for the slightest tinge of emotion… This is the determining quality of all characters in the book. Indifferent mechanisms that have nothing else but their success. To present creatures unable of love as overhumans is a sacrilege. To present as great, individuals, who limit themselves to a single desire, is beyond madness. To present as leaders those who are just products of the society in a more perverted package, is the biggest deception. Every single thing in this novel is either absolutely wrong or perfectly superficial.

Ayn Rand is a genius.

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