A book that can provoke my thoughts and yield unexpected conversations with both friends and strangers is always a welcome addition into my life. This is why I often ask people who interest me what they are reading, or what they would suggest I read. I’m lucky to have a roommate who values books as much as I do, and it was on his suggestion that I recently read (with some reluctance) Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead.

My reluctance spawned from a preamble of marred experiences with Rand, the first of which occurred in elementary school. The backstory is this: Accelerated Reader, a computer program which allowed students to read a book of their choice and then take a computerized multiple choice test for points on a sliding scale, was a staple of my reading homework throughout 3rd, 4th, and 5th grades. Most of us struggled towards our 50 point goal with age appropriate books in five to ten point increments, a feat involving months of work. Rand ruined this achievement when a classmate of mine, after falling behind on his reading, completed the Spark Notes for Atlas Shrugged, took the test, and despite a near failing percentage, received his “partial credit” 50 points in one fell swoop. It was absurd. I was angry jealous.

My second contact with Rand occurred during my freshman year of college (a significantly more appropriate venue) when my roommate told me that The Fountainhead was one of the best books he had ever read. While such a recommendation would usually be cause for an emergency trip to the library at the first available moment, at the time there were a number of things we did not see eye to eye on, and so I took it as a clear sign to avoid the book at all costs. I mentioned it to my mother, and discovered she had read the book at the suggestion of my uncle but thoroughly disliked it, I felt justified in my opinion that The Fountainhead held nearly no redeeming value. I later became great friends with that roommate, but never gave the book a second thought. Until…

My third contact with Rand. It occurred about a month ago. My current roommate told me that none of the characters in The Fountainhead were likable and that I should read it precisely because of that. He went on to say that it had yielded him some of his most interesting book discussions. This, combined with the ample book reading time provided by my daily train rides, made the decision, despite my past complications, a no brainer. I started it that day while doing laundry. A week and 800 pages later, I was finished.

It’s one of the most thought provoking books I’ve ever read, with a number of opinions on the creative process and what it means to be a creative individual with integrity. I’ll probably continue to refer to it in future posts, but for now I’ll just say go read it. The old cliche holds true; you can’t judge a book by its cover, whatever that cover may be. Learning by experience is the only way to have an original opinion.