Sitting down to pen and paper--or rather lap and laptop--to write a review of this book which has long had a profound place in my life, I look at the headlines around me: a bridge in San Fransisco reported to be on the verge of collapse after years of bureaucratic neglect and irresponsibility; a half-million pounds of contaminated beef are to be recalled, a report predicts that half of US children will be on foodstamps within twenty years, a tax-payer housing project for illegal immigrants is being planned by the US government.....and in the 1 November New York Times, the publication of an essay by one Adam Kirsch of The New Republic, a distorted hack-piece of an attack on Rand under the guise of a review of a new Rand biography. The silliness, the complete misinterpretation of Rand's work is so vast as to seem deliberate (it was written around Halloween--I thought maybe Kirsch wrote it dressed up as James Taggart--?). It would not be worth commenting on, were it not for the fact that his views represent, in general, what is so exasperatingly misunderstood about Rand's message (particularly in AS). I ask your pardon, in advance, for the length of the following.
Let me begin by saying that I am not an 'Objectivist', as I don't 'need' to be. I read and loved both The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged; they have been enough in terms of reinforcing or shaping anew certain convictions of mine. I read Barbara Brandon's biography of Rand, which I found beautifully written, both respectful (but not worshiping) and objective (but not artificially detached), particularly in light of the dramatic events of their friendship. Mr. Kirsch (we'll get to him in a moment) makes a smarmy aside about the book's appeal to a "mass market". There is nothing 'mass-market' in my background, education, tastes and life in general, outside of trips to grocery stores. I am a very highly-educated American, distinguished in my field and female. Some of my other favorite authors, for example, are Vladimir Nabokov and Graham Greene. There is no 'pulp' in any of my cultural or intellectual interests. I used to be a conservative Republican until it was taken over by the Bush, Neocon, Sarah Palin, Rush Limbaugh crowd; I used to see the potential of Democrats until that party was taken over by the Obamamania, Pelosi, Clinton-worshiping crowd. I am a political loner.
Atlas Shrugged is a beautiful story about the possibilities of the human spirit. It is about adhering to an exalted vision of man's potential, and the deepest sense of a love of life that comes with such vision. The basis of this outlook is the rigorous application of Reason as man's greatest gift, his only tool of survival and success in all areas of life. It is the proper exercise of Reason that is at the foundation of how he defines and applies his intellectual ability, his moral code, his sense of justice, his personal comportment and how he utimately find the one person--the ultimate object of desire--he will and can only love. She, Rand, defined this philosophy as "rational self-interest". Please note the word "rational" before "self-interest". She does not mean the 'self-interest' of those who have no Self--i.e. the foam-at-the-mouth wimps--both rich and poor--in her books.
It is a heroic view of life, one with a great sense of the dignity of man. The Kirsches of the world sneer at this kind of thing for one reason and one reason only: they don't believe it possible in themselves so they don't believe it possible for anyone. Given the state of jadedness and cynicism pervading most of our "cultural" standards today, this is to be expected.
The writing in the novel and its structure are exquisite. She repeats, but has to, given the scope of the work. She masterfully pulls together suspenseful, well-paced events and introspective flashbacks with complex, interlocking themes, interlocking storylines, profound, but never boring technological data (she did her homework), peak, dramatic scenes of high crises, and then orchestrates these elements into the novel's brisk, smart closing scenes, all the while keeping the whole vessel together with an overriding, consistent philosophy. The psychological portraits of her characters is masterly. There are several scenes of sheer beauty and emotional poignancy: the childhood of Dagny and Francisco, the first journey of the John Galt Line (the scene that made a Random House editor rave over the manuscript), the coal-engine tunnel disaster, the college-student assistant who dies in Hank Rearden's arms, John Galt confessing to Dagny that he wanted to be a world success like Rearden....these, and many more.
It has been said, like Kirsch writes, that her characters are "abstractions". No one can be so "emotionally repressed", no one can be so infallible, so self-possessed, or to coast off into eloquent speeches at the drop of a dime. These characters--"cartoon characters" in the words of the Garfield fan, Mr. Kirsch--would be more 'real' (hey, man), of course, if their language were strewn with obscenities, if they broke down and whimpered in times of crises, if they had sex indiscriminately with any breathing body at the bar that night; if they joined hands around Wyatt's Fire to sing ' Kumbaya' and ask that Jesus and Buddha both help in lobbying efforts to move the supply base of Taggart Transcontinental to a slave labor camp in China.
Rand depicts what excellent human composure consists of: emotional control as a means of keeping one's focus and mental balance in life (Not 'repression'--there are many many scenes of "emotion" in her main characters); being well-spoken in order to use words properly and to convey thoughts in a clear, precise manner (she fought her editors to keep the language "elevated". She maintained that debased language was for graffiti on subway walls, not books, and I would agree). The aristocratic manner of some of her characters (Dagny and Francisco) is meant to demonstrate the type of steely discipline and personal calm that best works in face of the onslaughts of stupidity and sloppiness around one.
We have all known James Taggarts or Lillian Readens or Robert Stadlers. The Eddie Willers type is familiar to us as well. But so is Hank Rearden. And we have somewhere met the Dagny type and the Francisco type. The latter is difficult to imagine for one reason only: that he was, apparently, exclusively loyal all those years to a Dagny he rarely saw. Given that he is depicted as one of the best looking men on earth, one of the wealthiest and, last but not least, Argentine (i.e. the Latin lover image), it is "impossible" to imagine him so chaste. Fine. But his type--his elegance and self-certainty and "mocking pride", many of us have seen in certain kinds of men. The "severity" of Galt, meanwhile, is partially for the effect of literary drama. But given what he represents, his characterization could not have been otherwise. Do we know Galts? I think that the "millionaire next door" type is the real-life version of him: the serious, determined, "hidden", American-dream worker who is carrying the burden of the nation's wealth....
One should also note that her heroic characters are inventors, engineers, a conservative investor, a philosopher, and an artist (a composer). Her "Capitalism"--the application of a man's Reason to preserve his material well-being, security and enjoyment in life--is that of rigid intellectual application. It is not Bernie Madoff, Wall Street meltdow hey-day anything-goes "capitalism". It is why many of her villans are businessmen. This essential difference is one that has remained strangely elusive to many if not most critics.
About the sex in this book. In Mr. Kirsch's "review", he boyishly, gleefully notes right away that part of the "mass appeal" of this work consists of Rand's vivid sex scenes. Now, c'mon folks. In a book that is some 1100 pages long, I counted about four, and these about a paragraph or two long. There are no crude mechanics described, no florid description of them pwivate pawts, no shrill aches and pains detailed ad nauseum. The "sexual struggle" aspect in which Rand pits Dagny and her devoted male suitors (three of them in her 37 years, no slut is she) is meant to highlight their conquest of a heroine. I found the sex scenes to be very well done, and at times, beautiful. These were men who represented Dagny's sense of life, and the sexual dimension a celebration of that.
On this note, one of the most beautiful "theories" on the meaning of love between a man and a woman is to be found in Francisco's speech to Hank Rearden on that subject, after Rearden, the one hero who struggles with self doubt, asserts that sex and a man's value or spirit are two separate categories. Read Fransicso's respose, I think it is one of the most lovely, poignant comments on the meaning of sex, ever.
Then of course there is John Galt's speech. Read it at its own sitting, it is wonderful. Kirsch, pounding away at the favorite mantra of his and his ilk, writes that the speech "makes Gordon Gekko's look like the Sermon on the Mount". Really, where? Where does it sound like that? In its defense of using your brains? In asserting that enduring money and success cannot exist without integrity and honesty? In telling men of 18 hour days and entrepreneurial risk to stick to their convictions and not give into the pallaver of "public policy" that breaks their backs in order to prop up incompetence? ( Mysteriously Mr. Kirsch gives no example of these GG-like comparisons--this being the Times and all where any journalist must scrupuously defend his or her points and...whatever...).
Finally, no attack on Rand would be complete without a) mentioning Nathaniel (!), b) book sale comparisons to the Bible c) Bennet Cerf and d) Her "amphetamines".
The lady was married fifty years, sometimes wonderful sometimes hellish. Fifty years, friends. Her husband Frank was not the intellectual giant she was but he played a very good complementary role, and even supplied the title of the book, and was her sounding board for its writing and Fountainhead, Anthem, etc. Branden came into her life at the height of the professional upswing in her life, and they had an affair that ended badly. End of story. Her critics just do not relent, it seems, in sniping away at her "infallibility", her mistake.
Kirsch gloats that AS, in having the highest sales in American publishing after the Bible (so it is said), can mean only that a bunch of thick-headed commoners find as much mystical, rah-rah appeal in AS to pump up their wobbly self-regard as they do in ingesting hearty, wholesome fare from the Gospels. Yawn. Note the snide, second-hand elitism of a Leftish journalist who can't for a minute imagine that an intelligent reading public may be attracted--very attracted--to the convictions she espouses. Convictions one cannot otherwise voice without the Kirsches of the media or a university classroom or God knows where hurling insults at them. The Bible, of course, is an entirely separate matter. We are talking about the religion of one billion people who own and will continue to buy the Bible. This is something else. The appeal of Rand, I would argue, is on its own merits. And what Kirsch doesn't want to confront is that people might be far smarter than he thinks.
Bennet Cerf and Ayn Rand became lifelong friends. The editors were ecstatic about the book and, as I wrote above, the John Galt Line scene was the selling point of the manuscript. He made the comment that he found her political philosophy "abhorrent"--at first. But he came to agree with many of her views. See Barbara Branden's biography on this. The sections on Random House and the book's publication is a wonderful read.
And as for the "amphetamines".....Rand did not knowingly take any kind of narcotic. She took an appetite suppresant, so she believed, that was prescribed to her by her doctor in order to maintain the energy to write. She was constantly tired. Years later, it was discovered that what she was taking was newly categorized as an amphetamine. She stopped taking it at once. Again, this is from Barbara Branden's biography, in footnote form. But the sly Kirsch wants you to think that the moralizing grande dame was some kind of druggie.
But...enough said. In grand Randian fashion, go, find out for yourself, think independently, see what the book tells you personally. It's been a great event in my life. |
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"Atlas Shrugged"
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