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| quote: | [Rand's] heroes were hearty, happily formed, and didn't have brats. In fact there were no brats at all in The Fountainhead, or in what little I read of Atlas Shrugged. The heroic life apparently left no time for children, or domestic cares, or the exertions of ordinary sympathy...I couldn't imagine Ayn Rand driving eight minutes, let alone eight hours, to nurse a sick relative. The same went for Dominique and Roark, who seemed to have no relatives, no friends -- only inferiors. For several weeks I'd measured other people against them, and other people had always come up short. Now I couldn't read the novel without trying to imagine the two of them changing my sour sheets, walking me to the can. No dice. They wouldn't have lasted five minutes in that sickroom. They wouldn't have shown up at all.
...It had dawned on me that I didn't really know anyone like Roark or Dominique. Though Ayn Rand insisted that such people existed and that she herself was one, my own experience of them was purely literary. Everyone I knew, even in the most privileged families, was beset by unheroic worries. A brilliant daughter made pregnant by her piano teacher, a sweet-tempered son gone surly and secretive, flunking out of school and shedding his friends and wrecking one car after another as if with a will; nervous breakdowns and squabbles over money.
...The people I knew, and the families I knew, were all more or less beset. And none of them -- not one -- seeemed capable of the perfect rationality and indomitable exercise of will that Ayn Rand demanded as a condition of respect. Nor, I had to admit, was I. Everyone was troubled, nobody measured up, and I began to think that the true failure lay in Ayn Rand's grasp of human reality.
...You can't read [Hemingway's] "Indian Camp" and then go back to The Fountainhead. Everything seems bloated and cheesy -- the swollen sentences, the hysterical partisanship of the author, the crassly symbolic, uninflected characters, the impossible things they think and say and do. Really, you can't believe a word of it. "Indian Camp" ruined The Fountainhead for me, even as the novel helped me to see the patience and delicacy and adamant reality of the story.
- Tobias Wolff, Old School |
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