I have exhausted my entire supply
of sticky notes, wasted about three sticks of lead from my mechanical pencil,
and my eyes feel like they are about to fall out of my face- damn, you could of
at least gifted us a version with larger text?
Not that I am ungrateful- just in pain- but I digress…
You
know, before reading Atlas Shrugged,
all that I knew about Ayn Rand was that she wrote a ton of books that trash
talk communism- and not much else. I always knew I would get around to reading
her work since Anthem and The Fountainhead both sit in my brother’s
bookshelf, but I am very grateful that this inevitable journey into her writing
was expedited, or to be more blunt, forced upon me. No, no, I am not
complaining, I promise. I sincerely enjoyed this novel. Really. I totally mean
it. Pinky promise. This is not sarcasm. I realize that my previous statement
makes this sound even more sarcastic- oh hell, let me just prove it to you.
I
usually judge a book, movie, or television show’s worth by how much anxiety it
gives me. Let me rephrase that: how much anxiety its story gives me- the time constraints of these weekly blog posts
definitely gave me anxiety, but all in good fun. On the scale of worth based on
stress while reading, where 1 means I am in homeostasis and 10 means you
probably should call a hospital because a girl my age should not be
experiencing cardiac arrest, I would give this a solid 6. Ok, maybe a 6.5 since
I’m feeling nice (and lightheaded). There were times where I was at the edge of
my seat (or bed, or wherever I may have been while reading), but there were
also times where I could have written the novel myself considering I even
predicted some of the dialogue-to -be -said. When Dagny got slapped in the face
by genius playboy Fracisco D’Aconia? Awesome. When the Taggart Train crossed
over the bridge of the John Galt line? I knew it would happen and yet I
probably did not breathe while reading. Where the suspense went sour was when
Rand tried to bring too much suspense
into the reading right to the point where I either did not care anymore or she
did not allow the tension to linger by being blatantly obvious as to what would
happen. I unfortunately had Cheryll’s fate accidentally spoiled for me, so when
I arrived to the part where she finally apologizes to Dagny and has a little
Dr.Phil-esque session with her big sister-in-law, she seemed to be healing,
which I found weird for someone who is about to commit suicide. I answered my
own question roughly a minute afterwards upon reading the scene where the
sexual tension between Lillian and Jim finally cracks, finding myself saying “Oh, she’s going to walk in, see them having
sex, freak out, and THEN kill herself?” It is a shame that I was right; I liked
Cheryll, even when she was ignorant, and I secretly wished that the spoiler was
false, but in the world of Rand (and in the real world), the good suffer just as
much as the bad. Have I convinced you that I like the book yet? Probably not,
so let me keep trying.
To read
a book that is usually generalized as a solid block of objectivist propaganda and
find other, possibly greater ideas and morals out of it is what made Atlas Shrugged such a beautiful novel. I
have a disinterest in politics and business because they are complicated, controversial
topics that I would much rather stay out of. Perhaps this is deliberate
ignorance to the world around me, but I have my reasons. Anyway, because of this,
I feared that I would not enjoy the novel because of inadequate understanding
or just plain indifference. I am happy to say I was wrong.
Ayn Rand makes it easy for readers to grasp
the situations and ideals she tries to display in the novel. Even more
admirable is the fact that she took her ideals and made a compelling fictional
narrative out of it, with drama, some suspense, action, and to an extent, some
horror. I fell in love with the characters, each and every one of them, even
the slimiest ones (yes, even Jim). Through her writing, Rand made me love, then
hate, then adore, then abhor, and finally appreciate these characters because of
how human she made them, and how she made me think deeply about each of their
personalities before casting final judgment upon them.
Trailing off that thought, I want
to talk more about Jim in this final goodbye. I feel it is appropriate,
especially since all I have ever talked about in these blog posts is his
sister. I do not hate Jim, I never did- I just pitied him. The eldest, male
heir to the Taggart train business has been suffering since childhood, and I
witnessed this. Imagine being the older brother, the one who, in a patriarchal
society, was expected to be the smart one, the winner, the pride of Nat Taggart
himself… imagine being this boy named James Taggart , having to sit in the
shadow of his genius sister, and his even more genius best friend, sitting as
an outcast as they would daydream about their success and future- of course he
was going to turn out rotten. When he found Cheryll, I was happy. I thought
that he would finally have someone to love him for his true self, and as it
turns out, he thought so too, but it resulted that he just wanted someone
lesser than him to admire him so that he could genuinely feel of higher worth
and stature. By taking all of Dagny’s credit because he was not smart enough to
come up with it himself, he was nationally loved for it, but I believe that he
understood that he was just lying to himself, so Cheryll was the only way he
could legitimately feel more important; in comparison to a common girl, he had
to be by default! Yes, he did sick, terrible things. Yes, he abused his wife
and helped screw an entire nation out of greed. Yes, he lied and looted. But Jim
is not evil- he is just broken and pathetic. Because Rand let me see how he
lived his childhood, I could never bring myself to hate him.
I realize I have long passed the
limit of this final blog post- I guess this proves that I have trouble letting
go. I did enjoy the novel, and I will re-read it soon, as well as read her
other books because I admire her quality of writing and eloquence. It has been
quite a journey, Ayn Rand, and to conclude this blog post appropriately, I will
end with this:
$
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