FOUNTAINHEAD. WELLSPRING. SOURCE. .
The 736 pages of Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead defined my 2019 summer.
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I read it until my eyes were heavy most nights. It came with me on a solo cross country road trip—my hotel roommate and my dining partner. It was always on hand in case of an emergency, like a flat tire, for example. It kept me from simply waiting in waiting rooms, made time fly on planes. 😉
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It came to every beach and secured my beach towel. It celebrated my birthday with me poolside in Vegas. Then it flew back to LA in September, my beach read every day. I read the last page on Topanga Beach in early October.
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It is faded from the sun, warped from ocean water, bears a couple of splatter stains from coffee and wine, and has grains of sand pressed into its pages.
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I don’t know how it happened that I reached adulthood without having read it. Now I expect I will return to it often for its themes of artistry, integrity, idealism. and love.
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I’m thankful to the person who suggested I finally read it, whose judgment I trust and opinion I respect—about books and other things. It was a serendipitous recommendation, coming when I didn’t even realize I needed to read it.
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I know people tend to either love this book or hate it. I’m in the former category and gladly agree to disagree with you if you’re in the latter.
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