Ayn Rand: THE FOUNTAINHEAD

Peter, Dominique, Howard Roark  

Howard Roark laughed. He laughed at the thing which had happened to him that morning and at the things which now lay ahead. (p. 15)

*

"You didn't know that Roark went to Stanton?"

"No."

"You don't seem to know very much about Mr. Roark."

"I don't know anything about Mr. Roark. We weren't discussing Mr. Roark."

"Weren't we? No, of course, we were discussing Peter Keating. Well, you see, one can make one's point best by contrast, by comparison. As you did in your pretty little article today. To appreciate Peter as he should be appreciated, let's follow up a comparison. Let's take two parallel lines. I'm inclined to agree with Euclid, I don't think these parallel lines will ever meet. Well, they both went to Stanton. Peter graduated with high honors, the highest of his class. Roark was expelled. Don't look like that. I don't have to explain why he was expelled, we understand, you and I. Now, I don't think that Roark thinks very much of Peter's work. He never has and he never will, no matter what happens."

"Ellsworth!" she screamed. "Get out of here!"

She had shot to her feet. 

"But, Dominique," he said pleasantly, "I was only telling you why Peter Keating is such an interesting person." 

She dropped down on her chair, looking at him.

"Get out of here." 

"Well, I've always said that you underestimated me. Call on me next time you need some help."

At the door, he turned to add:

"Of course, personally, I think Peter Keating is the greatest architect we've got."

*

That evening, when she came home, the telephone rang.

"Dominique, my dear," a voice gulped anxiously over the wire, "did you really mean all that?"

"Who is this?"

"Joel Sutton. I ..."

"Hello, Joel. Did I mean what?"

"Hello, dear, how are you? How is your charming father? I mean, did you mean all that about that fellow Roark? I mean, what you said in your column today. I'm quite a bit upset, quite a bit. I thought I was very careful about deciding, but I trust you of all people, I've always trusted you, you're a smart kid, plenty smart, if you work for a fellow like Wynand I guess you know your stuff. Wynand knows buildings. And you working for him, and now I don't know what to think. Because, you see, I had decided, yes, I had absolutely and definitely decided - almost - to have this fellow Roark, in fact I told him so, in fact he's coming over tomorrow afternoon to sign the contract, and now ..."

"Listen, Joel," she said, her teeth set tight together, "can you have lunch with me tomorrow?"

*

She met Joel Sutton in the vast, deserted dining room of a distinguished hotel.

"You know, Joel," she said, facing him across a table, her voice quiet, unsmiling, "it was a brilliant idea, your choosing Roark."

"Oh, do you think so?"

"I think so. You'll have a building that will be beautiful, like an anthem. A building that will take your breath away - also your tenants."

"Good heavens, Dominique, what are you talking about?"

"About your building. About the kind of building that Roark will design for you. It will be a great building, Joel."

"You mean, good?"

"I don't mean good, I mean great."

"It's not the same thing."

"No, Joel, no. It's not the same thing."

"I don't like this 'great' stuff."

"No. You don't. I didn't think you would. Then what do you want with Roark? You want a building that won't shock anybody. A building that will be folksy and comfortable and safe. A building that everybody will like, everybody and anybody. It's very uncomfortable to be a hero, Joel, and you don't have the figure for it."

"You mean, Roark's no good?"

She sat straight and stiff, as if all her muscles were drawn tight against pain. 

"Do you see many buildings that he's done? Do you see many people hiring him? There are six million people in the city of New York. Six million people can't be wrong. Can they?"

"Of course not."

"Of course."

"Do you really like me, Dominique?"

"Didn't you know that you've always been one of my great favorites?"

"I ... I've always trusted you. I'll take your word anytime. What do you really think I should do?"

"It's simple. You want the best that money can buy. You want a building that will be - what it deserves to be. You want an architect whom other people have employed, so that you can show them that you're just as good as they are."

"That's right. That's exactly right.... Look, Dominique, you've hardly touched your food."

"I'm not hungry."

"Well, what architect would you recommend?"

"Think, Joel. Who is there, at the moment, that everybody's talking about? Who makes the most money for himself and his clients? Who's young and famous and safe and popular?"

"Why, I guess ... I guess, Peter Keating."

"Yes, Joel. Peter Keating."

(p. 267-271)

*

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Roark, so terribly sorry, believe me ... I think you're a great architect. You see that's just the trouble, greatness is fine but it's not practical. That's the trouble, Mr. Roark, not practical, and after all you must admit that Mr. Keating has much the better name and he's got that ... that popular touch which you haven't been able to achieve."

It disturbed Mr. Sutton that Roark did not protest. He wished Roark would try to argue. But Roark said nothing; he had merely inclined his head when he heard the decision.

"As a matter of fact, Mr. Roark, I'm not alone in this decision. Aa a matter of fact, I did want you, I had decided on you, honestly I had, but it was Miss Dominique Francon, whose judgment I value most highly, who convinced me that you were not the right choice for this commission - and she was fair enough to allow me to tell you that she did."

He saw Roark looking at him suddenly. Then he saw Roark's mouth open: he was laughing, without sound.

"What on earth are you laughing at, Mr. Roark?"

"So Miss Francon wanted you to tell me this?"

"She didn't want me to, why should she? - she merely said that I could tell you if I wished."

"Yes, of course."

"Which only shows her honesty and that she had good reasons for her convictions and will stand by them openly."

"Yes."

"Well, what's the matter?"

"Nothing, Mr. Sutton."

"Look, it's not decent to laugh like that."

"No."

(p. 271)

*

On a spring day, eighteen months later, Dominique walked to the construction site of the Wynand Building. 

She turned a corner of Hell's Kitchen and came to the vast cleared tract.

She stopped. She saw an object she had never noticed before. The sight was like the touch of a hand on her forehead, the hand of those figures in legend who had the power to heal. She felt as if she were hearing: "And I know that if you carry through to the end, it will be a victory, Howard, not just for you, but for something that should win, that moves the world. It will vindicate so many who have fallen before you."

She saw, on the fence surrounding New York's greatest building, a small tin plate bearing the words:

     "Howard Roark, Architect"

She walked to the superintendent's shed. She had come here often to call for Roark, to watch the progress of construction. But there was a new man in the shed who did not know her. She asked for Roark. 

"Mr. Roark is way up on top by the water tank. Who's calling, ma'am?"

"Mrs. Roark," she answered. 

The man found the superintendent who let her ride the outside hoist, as she always did - a few planks with a rope for a railing, that rose up the side of the building. 

She stood, her hand lifted and closed about a cable, her high heels poised firmly on the planks. The planks shuddered, a current of air pressed her skirt to her body, and she saw the ground dropping softly away from her.... Flat roofs descended ... She saw roof gardens float down like handkerchiefs spread on the wind. Skyscrapers raced her and were left behind. The planks under her feet shot past the antennae of radio stations. She felt the height pressing against her eardrums. The sun filled her eyes. The air beat against her raised chin.

She saw him standing above her, on the top platform of the Wyland Building. He waved to her.

The line of the ocean cut the sky. The ocean mounted as the city descended. She passed the pinnacles of bank buildings. She passed the crowns of courthouses. She rose above the spires of churches.

Then there was only the ocean and the sky and the figure of Howard Roark.

(p. 692-694) 

(Excerpts from Ayn Rand: "THE FOUNTAINHEAD", published by Signet / New American Library / Penguin Group / Penguin Books; ISBN 978-1-101-99089-6; paperback; 704 pages; Introduction by Ayn Rand; Afterword by Leonard Peikoff.)

"No person or event in this story is intended as a reference to any real person or event. The titles of the newspaper columns were invented and used by me in the first draft of this novel five years ago. They were not taken from and have no reference to any actual newspaper columns or features."

Ayn Rand 

March 10, 1943

(p. xiv/p. 14)

"Ayn Rand's working title for the novel was Second-Hand Lives. The final title, chosen after the manuscript was completed, changes the emphasis: like the book, it gives primacy not to the villains, but to the creative hero, the man who uses his mind first-handedly and becomes thereby the fountainhead of all achievement." (p. 695)

"I have read The Fountainhead many times since 1949, when I first found it. I read it mostly for the sheer pleasure of living in the "substitute" world Ayn Rand creates. I hope the story has given you the same pleasure." 

Leonard Peikoff 

Irvine, California

March 1992

(p. 704) 

(From the Introduction by Ayn Rand and from the Afterword by Leonard Peikoff in Ayn Rand's masterpiece "THE FOUNTAINHEAD", published by Signet.)

Leo (=lion), Leon, Leonard always remind Me of My surname "Sinha" (Singha/Singh = Lion).

ROARK - ROAR K !

ROARK - ROW ARK !

I think "THE FOUNTAINHEAD" is a ghost-written novel. In other words, Ayn Rand is NOT the actual author. Indeed, I suspect that Ayn Rand and Leonard Peikoff are PHONY names, and the dates of publication etc. are PHONEY dates, as in Facebook etc. Using pen names and the writing of books by anonymous ghost writers are nothing new but are in fact very ancient practices. Hoary traditions.

Kishalay Sinha [G] April 25, 2020 A.D.