Blogalong The Foutainhead Part III
End of Part I- Part II chapter V
Apologise in advance for ranty incoherent nature…
Oooo Dominique Francon. I kind of love Rand for creating such a lovely set up, you think the book’s all about a couple of men’s lives, one who follows the rules one who is morally obliged to break them, then suddenly she turns it all on it’s head with the introduction of a single character.
As you may have gathered, I’m not that into Dominique. I have very little sympathy with the ‘spoilt-little-rich-girl’ type in general, and less still when their so bloody clever, manipulative, brutish and cruel. Don’t tell me Dominique doesn’t know exactly what she is doing to Peter Keating (who’s anti-hero status I am getting shivers over it’s so Shakespearean). She’s a cow, I would have spotted her for what she was and hated her on sight in real life.
The first chapter of Part II ( Ellsworth M. Toohey, who reminds me a bit of some of the political “maverick” intellectual types my Dad used to hang around with in the late eighties/ early nineties Labour Party stage. Bit of a bastard, and far too clever for his own good. In fact everyone in the book, except for Roark, is so up themselves they’re licking their spleens. Its like what I would imagine some New Left parties are like after a rather successful ‘promotest’ these days. No you’re so clever, no you’re so clever, no you are, no no you are OH SHUT UP).
The first chapter of Part II. Oh the first chapter of Part II. After what has been quite a sexless book, the first chapter of Part II Blew Me Away. Damn Rand can write lust, can’t she. Every single metaphor was there, from the ridiculously phallic drilling into granite, to the sensual placing of hands on rock, to the rather pathetic site of Dominique trying to crack open her marble fireplace which Roark smashes through…the contrast between the delicate Dominique and the grrrr Man Roark; have to confess I read this alone, in bed on a Saturday night and yes I did have to watch Disney’s Enchanted/have a cold shower afterwards as was having a bit of a middle-aged-lady flustered moment which for woman of 26 was rather pathetic.
Now. The actual sex thing upset me, but only afterwards. During it was all snarff snarff but then thinking on he raped her. And this obviously instantly regrades him to the level of Bastard…but…this is when my feminist head and my stupid head start to split in two in the form of a hydra and begin to try to kill each other off. My feminist head now hates Roark, my stupid head fancies him even more. This is rubbish and sucky, but also the mark of a very good book in that it makes you think. And I love thinking.
And now we’re back in New York, and Keating is Golden Boy 2.0, Catherine is still being remarkable blah, and Ellsworth is beginning to become even more unlikeably smug. Roark has just designed something that is dividing the city and its all a bit exciting, really. I still hate Dominique but, and this is when my stupid head starts talking, maybe she just needed a good shag?
Right, I’m now going to flagellate myself for even thinking that. Bad feminist. No points for you. Fish/bicycles etc etc grrrrr.