I feel like I need to preface this review by confirming up front that I don't hate Rand's philosophy or political leanings. I don't even really dislike them. Hell, Bastiat's The Law is one of my favorite works on non-fiction ever. You could call me a filthy capitalist pig and you probably would not be too far off the mark.What I do hate, however, is Rand's writing.
I've always been turned off by the inherent disingenuousness behind grinding your idealistic axe through the medium of fiction. When you're approaching fiction with the goal of displaying (and possibly trying to convince the reader of) your worldview, it seldom leaves room for the creation of compelling, human characters and letting them react to the intriguing situations that you're placing them in. You're talking through the characters' mouths and manipulating events to display what confirms your worldview and ideological beliefs rather than letting the story unfold organically in a way that's satisfying and reasonable.
I've read plenty of writers whose political and religious views I outright detest in other settings and loved their work. I've read plenty of writers who are verifiable human scum and loved their work. I'd bet that we all have. If a writer is doing their job then their character shouldn't much affect their storytelling. But when you're so obviously attempting said axe-grinding like Rand is with Atlas, it often falls apart into contrived plotting and bland characters, and that's exactly what happens here.
Any book that includes and endless stream of pages worth of a character literally preaching to you in the middle of the narrative, in my opinion, should be non-fiction. In terms of fictional aspects: I related to none of the characters, was not moved by the plot, and was significantly bored as I continued through the book. Rand's prose is flat and unengaging, just like her characters. All that's really here is her philosophy, with all its strengths and faults, and I think that's why most of the hardcore fans of this novel are those who find themselves agreeing with it, while the rest are simply doomed to trudge through and deal with her unlikable characters and predictable plot. If you know Rand's worldview then you can see each turn coming from a mile away and you can guess at the story about halfway through (or sooner).
I do think there's a good story somewhere in here, but sadly Rand wasn't able to separate herself from her beliefs and chisel one out of the block. I've got Sinclair's The Jungle on the reading list for next year, and I'm expecting it to be the other side of the same coin on which Atlas lives, so I'm not much looking forward to that read. But I'll do my best to come into it with a clear head and give ole Upton as fair a shot as I gave Ms. Rand.
I find the philosophy behind Marx and Engel's The Communist Manifesto utterly misled and viscerally repulsive. The history it inspired is a horrifying black mark upon Western civilization, the results of which we're still feeling today. And yet I still have a copy of it sitting on my shelf. At least Manifesto makes for an engaging, thought-provoking read. Had it been a lame attempt at fiction, perhaps I'd have found it as valueless as Atlas, which no longer occupies shelfspace as I donated it to my local library after finishing.
Too much of this feels like a Trojan Horse for Randian philosophy and the fiction falls apart around it.
⭐
