daines'n around

I rarely find time to read books that have been given to me in the past. Unless someone provides me with a gleaming review, or some inspirational reason as to why the prose of a certain novelist would change my life in some way... The book generally sits on my shelf until I have time.

I had time today. I picked up The Fountainhead from my shelf. I remember a good friend gave me the book and told me that I should write like that one day. I opened it up, saw the 700 some pages of verbose literature and really thought, I'd never write this longwinded... Even if I tried to.

Fast forward to a time when nothing I'm reading is keeping my interest before school starts and I sat and lovingly flipped through the first 60 pages in this monstrous novel. What has impressed me thus far is character development. I mean, read this:

He held her close, anxiously, afraid that her weightless little body would vanish. He did not know why her presence made him confess things unconfessed in his own mind. He did not know why the victory he came here to share had faded. But it did not matter. He had a peculiar sense of freedom-- her presence always lifted him from a pressure he could not define-- he was alone-- he was himself. All that mattered to him now was the feeling of her coarse cotton blouse against his wrist.

Nothing life changing, granted, but the plot continues, and you cannot help but identify with at least one of the many carefully developing characters Ayn Rand depicts. Now I can only hope that my time allows me to complete this novel.