Ive read some novels, few novellas and myriad stories. Many of them interesting , quite a few were boring. But "The Fountainhead" happens to be something I've never been through. Its not free flowing like a Sydney, its not that interesting like a Dan Brown and it certainly does not have any captivating plot like one of the Frederick forsyth's and yet it baffles me no limits that its "un-putdownable". Its addictive, its dangerous!
The whole character sketch of the male lead of the story, Howard Roark, as an idiosyncratic zealot, committed only to his freewill of being an unbound architect leaves you in awe. The character starts to haunt you. At least am feeling the brunt of being with him for last 268 pages. I mean I go about doing my jobs and every now and then, I reflect back and wonder as to how Roark would have handled that, and it just leaves me ashamed that I had not done it to the point of perfection Roark would have had put in it.
You even start to look out for that "Dominique Francon" of your life.
The brutality of idealism is really shocking if not convincing.
Never been through such stuff , and its seducing me in to its magic. And am loving it!
And may be that’s why they say it’s a masterpiece.
Satan save me from the next 400 pages.
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