The silent roar of Howard Roark
Since its publication 73 years ago, The Fountainhead has given its readers a unique reading experience indeed.
The protagonist Howard Roark presents a depiction of man that would seem impossible to most of us. And that is precisely the point. Howard Roark is a person who rises on his own, is an independent body, mind and soul. An independent force. He rises against that inevitable influence that society has on its members – over time it builds a set of conventions, then it conditions its members, since their birth, to believe those conventions are sacred, then it establishes another set of conventions to punish those who flounder the first set of sacred conventions, and in most of the cases, these steps are enough.
Then arrive men of ideas, who are trying to find a new path. The trouble? The new path isn’t a part of the convention yet! So all hell breaks loose.
This conflict between the individual and the collective would not be so vitriolic if the collective didn’t regard the individual as a threat. The fact that it does is more of a judgement on the collective’s insecurities than it is on the individual.
Fountainhead is a beautiful book. It champions ideas too idealistic. But why should that matter? Rand deserves credit not only for her literary prowess but also for her ability to beautifully transform her thoughts and philosophy into a powerful work of fiction.
There is one important thing to understand here. You cannot become Howard Roark. You either are Roark or you are not. I’ve heard people say that the true power of this book, as it was intended by the author, is experienced in the late teens and the very early twenties as at that time, we have an idealistic outlook towards the world and believe everything is possible. Then as some years pass and we reach the late twenties, we begin to grow averse to the ideas espoused in the book as they seem unrealistic and impractical.
I think this has a very valid reason. The age when a child’s personality is slowly taking shape – the common denominator of his personality that will stay fixed for the rest of his life even as additional traits will get added and subtracted as time shall pass – is from about three to six. If a child could read and understand The Fountainhead at that age, it would impact him in ways we aren’t in a position to imagine or extrapolate.
By the time we reach an age when we can actually get to grips with this masterful work, our basic personality has already formed. However, till the late teens we believe we can still change certain traits of ours and we feel we have the power. So the magic of this book enchants us.
The real disappointment dawns when we are in our twenties and realise it is not possible to act like Roark. However much anyone may mock Rand, and there is no dearth of people who do, at some level, and in varying degrees, they all will agree that living like Roark is not an unwise way to spend one’s life, even if they may not step into his shoes if given the chance. The antagonistic feelings that may arise in someone’s mind for Rand’s work betrays the very thing that that feeling is supposedly a result of. They understand that they can no longer have the independence that Roark has. Of course some people may genuinely dislike her philosophy, but I’m not referring to that set of people here.
This book has a few recurring themes that strengthen its foundation, and form the bedrock of its narrative, effortlessly carrying the story forward.
Of love, and such a conception of it which we may not have come across before, and which I had assuredly not.
Of power and its nature, how is it held and wielded. What is the role of someone who holds power? Is it more important to hold power over others, or over oneself?
Of beauty, and whether the beauty of a thing or an idea depends in any way on its existence in the physical world.
And of patience, self-assuredness and determination.
Howard Roark may not exist. But neither do unicorns. Do we also berate the person who dreamed up the unicorn?