Source

Frank O'Connor

Part one. Peter Keating

Howard Roark laughed.

He stood naked on the edge of the cliff. At its foot was a lake. A splash of granite shot up into the sky and froze over the serene water. The water seemed motionless, the cliff seemed floating. It felt the numbness of the moment when one stream merges with another - the oncoming one - and both freeze for a moment, more dynamic than the movement itself. The surface of the stone sparkled, generously licked by the sun's rays.

The lake seemed like just a thin steel disk, filigree cutting the cliff into two parts. The cliff went into the depths without changing at all. It began and ended in the sky. The whole world seemed to hang in space, like an island swaying in the void, anchored to the feet of a man standing on a rock.

He stood against the sky, straightening his shoulders. The long straight lines of his strong body were connected by the angles of the joints; even the relief curves of the muscles seemed to be broken into tangents. Hands with palms outstretched hung down. He stood, feeling his cramped shoulder blades, tense neck and the heaviness of blood rushing to his palms. The wind blew from behind - he felt it as a groove on his back - and ruffled his hair, not blond or brown, but exactly the color of a ripe orange peel.

He laughed at what had happened to him this morning and at what was yet to come.

He knew the days ahead would be difficult. There were still unresolved issues; it was necessary to develop an action plan for the near future. He knew that he had to take care of this, but he also knew that now he would not think about anything, because in general everything was already clear to him, the general plan of action had long been determined and, finally, because here he wanted to laugh.

He just tried to think about all these questions, but got distracted by looking at the granite.

He was no longer laughing; his gaze froze, absorbing the surrounding landscape. His face was like a law of nature - unchanging, inexorable, without doubt. The face was distinguished by high cheekbones over thin sunken cheeks, gray eyes, cold and intent, a contemptuous, tightly compressed mouth - the mouth of an executioner or a saint.

He looked at the granite, which, he thought, would be dismembered and turned into walls, at the trees, which would be sawn into rafters. He saw streaks of oxidized rock and thought of iron ore underground, smelted, it would take on new life as steel structures shot up into the sky.

These mountains, he thought, are here for me. They are waiting for a jackhammer, dynamite and my voice, waiting to be crushed, blown up, split and reborn. They long for the shape my hands will give them.

Then he shook his head, remembering again what had happened this morning and how he had a lot to do. He walked to the very edge of the ledge, raised his hands and dived down.

Having crossed the lake, he climbed out onto the rocks on the opposite shore, where he left his clothes. He looked around regretfully. For three years, since he settled in Stanton (1), whenever he could find an hour, which did not happen often, he came here to relax: to swim, to rest, to think, to be alone, to breathe deeply. Having gained freedom, the first thing he wanted to do was come here again. He knew that he would see these rocks and lake for the last time. This morning he was expelled from Stanton Institute of Technology's school of architecture.

He pulled on old jeans, sandals, and a short-sleeved shirt missing most of its buttons, and walked along the narrow path among the boulders to the path that ran down the green slope to the road below.

He walked quickly, descending the long, sunlit road with the free and casual grace of an experienced walker. Far ahead lay Stanton, stretched along the coast of Massachusetts Bay. The town looked like the setting for a pearl - a famous institute rising on a hill.

Stanton started out as a dump. A sad mountain of garbage rose among the grass, smoking faintly. The cans gleamed dully in the sun. The road led past the first houses to the church - a Gothic temple covered with tiles painted blue. Sturdy wooden supports were piled along the walls of the building, supporting nothing, and stained glass windows with a rich pattern of artificial stone sparkled. From here the path opened into the depths of long streets bordered by elaborate, pretentious lawns. In the depths of the lawns stood wooden houses of ugly shape - with protruding gables, turrets, dormers, bulging porticoes, crushed by the weight of gigantic sloping roofs. White curtains fluttered across the windows, and an overflowing trash can stood by the side doors. An old Pekingese sat on a cushion next to the front door, drool flowing from his half-open mouth. The diapers fluttered in the wind between the pillars of the porch.

People turned around after Howard Roark. Some froze, looking at him in amazement with unexpected and inexplicable indignation - this was an instinctive feeling that awoke in most people in his presence. Howard Roark didn't see anyone. For him, the streets were deserted; he could have walked along them naked quite easily.

He crossed the center of Stanton, a wide, green wasteland bordered by shop windows. The windows boasted fresh posters proclaiming: “We welcome our graduates! Good luck to you!" This afternoon the class that began their studies at Stanton Institute of Technology in 1922 received their diplomas.

Roark walked slowly down the street to where Mrs. Keating's house stood at the end of a long row of buildings on a hill overlooking a green ravine. He rented a room in this house for three years.

Mrs. Keating was on the veranda. She was feeding a pair of canaries sitting in a cage suspended over the railing. Her chubby hand froze midway when she saw Howard. She looked at him curiously and tried to make a grimace that was supposed to express sympathy, but succeeded only in showing how much work it cost her.

He walked across the veranda, not paying attention to her. She stopped him:

Mr. Roarke!

Mr. Roarke, I'm so sorry...” She paused. - About what happened this morning.

About what? - he asked.

About your expulsion from the institute. I can't tell you how sorry I am; I just wanted you to know that I feel for you.

He stood looking at her. Mrs. Keating thought that he did not see her, but she knew that this was not so. He always looks at people point blank, and his damn eyes miss nothing. One look from him inspires people that it is as if they do not exist. Howard just stood there and watched without answering her.

But I believe,” she continued, “that if someone suffers in this world, it is only due to a misunderstanding. Of course, now you will be forced to give up the profession of an architect, won’t you? But a young man can always earn a decent living by getting a job as a clerk, in trade, or somewhere else.

He turned to leave.

Oh Mr. Roarke! - she exclaimed.

The dean called you in your absence. - This time she hoped to wait for some reaction from him; it would be like seeing him broken. She didn't know what it was about him that always made her want to see him broken.

Yes? - he asked.

“Dean,” she repeated uncertainly, trying to regain lost ground. - The dean himself, through the secretary.

She told me to tell you that the dean wants to see you immediately upon your return.

Thank you.

What do you think he might want? Now?

Don't know.

He said: “I don’t know,” and she clearly heard: “I don’t care.” And she stared at him incredulously.

By the way,” she said, “my Pitty’s graduation party is today.” “She said it completely out of place.”

Editors M. Korneev, S. Limanskaya, E. Pautova

Technical editor N. Lisitsyna

Proofreaders O. Ilyinskaya, E. Chudinova

Computer layout M. Potashkin

All rights reserved. No part of the electronic copy of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including posting on the Internet or corporate networks, for private or public use without the written permission of the copyright owner.

Editor's choice - choice of the editor-in-chief

In my opinion, the best place to start getting acquainted with the work of Ayn Rand is with the novel “The Fountainhead.” Its plot is fascinating and unpredictable, and its philosophical ideas are presented clearly and simply.

Reading “The Source” will help in the future to truly understand the ideas of the novel “Atlas Shrugged,” as well as the philosophical and journalistic books of Ayn Rand.

Alexey Ilyin,

General Director of Alpina Publishers

Frank O'Connor

Preface

Dear reader, in your hands is the first volume of Ayn Rand’s famous work.

The novel “The Source” clearly defines the author’s life position and shows the foundations of her philosophy.

However, a lover of exciting reading need not be afraid - there are no boring philosophical discussions in the novel. Despite the impressive volume, the plot is captivating from the first pages and it is very difficult to stop reading without knowing how one or another of its twists will end. And yet, The Fountainhead is largely a philosophical novel.

Rand said, “If all philosophers were required to present their ideas in the form of novels and to dramatize the precise, clear meaning and consequences of their philosophy in human life, there would be many fewer philosophers, but many better philosophers.” It is not surprising, therefore, that philosophical ideas interested her only in the sense in which they influence the real existence of man. By the way, Rand added to this that people themselves interest her only in the sense in which they refract philosophical ideas in themselves.

As a philosopher, A. Rand introduced a new moral theory, and as a novelist, she skillfully wove it into a fascinating work of fiction. What is the essence of this new morality?

Russian people were taught from childhood (both under the Bolsheviks and long before their revolution) that the well-being of the community, fatherland, state, people and something else like that is immeasurably more important than his personal well-being, that to achieve personal happiness, regardless of the interests of a certain collective, means to be selfish. And this, of course, is immoral, that is, very, very bad.

Ayn Rand categorically and without any reservations rejects the priority of anyone's interests over the interests of the individual. “I swear on my life and the love of this life,” she wrote, “that I will never live in the name of another person and will not force another person to live in my name.”

Apparently, it is no coincidence that the leaders of totalitarian neo-fascist regimes are popular. And the point is not at all in them as leaders, but in millions of people who are lazy in mind and thirst for the strongest possible power over themselves, since only it, strong power, can solve all their personal problems without delay and provide the opportunity to satisfy all their base instincts.

Howard Roark, the main character of the novel, sees his personal well-being in his favorite work and in doing it as he sees fit. He's an architect. He proposes house designs, but society does not accept them. Society demands traditional solutions. However, Roark does not give in to the general trend and, complicating his personal life, fights for his right to creativity. So, maybe he cares about the people who will live in his houses, and for their sake he suffers and suffers?

Howard Roark is an egoist of the highest order. People in his life play a secondary role. He finds personal happiness and well-being in the very process of creation. Not in the name of anyone or anything, but only in the name of yourself! He, like any true creator, does not expect praise and recognition from others. He does not work for their sake and not for the sake of their gratitude. He has already received the highest satisfaction from work in the process of work itself and can endlessly enjoy contemplating the creation of his mind.

“The main purpose of this book,” wrote A. Rand, “is the defense of selfishness in its true sense.” But the author not only defends egoism, she argues that the ego of the individual is the source of human progress.

Ayn Rand's ideas will seem new and controversial to many. We are ready to enter into a discussion with anyone interested. By the way, after the first advertising publication in the newspaper “Book Review” (November 1993), the publishing department of the Association of Businessmen of St. Petersburg received many letters from Russian citizens with requests for books by A. Rand. With the help of these books, Russians hope to gain the ability to withstand life's difficulties and the strength of spirit leading to personal happiness and well-being.

We are firmly convinced that Ayn Rand's ideas will help everyone who accepts them with their minds.

D. Kostygin

Part one

Peter Keating

Howard Roark laughed.

He stood naked on the edge of the cliff. At its foot was a lake. A splash of granite shot up into the sky and froze over the serene water. The water seemed motionless, the rock seemed floating. It felt the numbness of the moment when one flow merges with another - an oncoming one - and both freeze for a moment, more dynamic than the movement itself. The surface of the stone sparkled, generously licked by the sun's rays.

He stood against the sky, straightening his shoulders. The long straight lines of his strong body were connected by the angles of the joints; even the relief curves of the muscles seemed to be broken into tangents. Hands with palms outstretched hung down. He stood, feeling his squeezed shoulder blades, tense neck and the heaviness of blood rushing to his palms. The wind was blowing from behind - he felt it as a groove on his back - and ruffled his hair, not blond or brown, but exactly the color of a ripe orange peel.

He laughed at what had happened to him that morning and at what was yet to come.

He just tried to think about all these questions, but got distracted by looking at the granite.

Source

PREFACE

So, dear reader, in your hands is the second volume of the collected works of Ayn Rand.

The first novel - “We are the Living” - tells about the Bolshevisation of Russia in the 20s. It is attractive to us, Russian readers, primarily because of its objective description of events known to us from numerous other sources. With this novel, Rand fulfilled her duty to the people who remained in Russia and told the world about the “big cemetery” into which her homeland had turned.

The novel “The Source” (in 2 books) is a work of a different order. It more clearly defines the author’s life position and shows the foundations of her philosophy.

However, a lover of exciting reading need not be afraid - there are no boring philosophical discussions in the novel. Despite the impressive volume, the plot is captivating from the first pages and it is very difficult to stop reading without knowing how this or that twist will end. And yet, The Fountainhead is largely a philosophical novel.

As a philosopher, A. Rand introduced a new moral theory, and as a novelist, she skillfully wove it into a fascinating work of fiction. What is the essence of this new morality?

Russian people were taught from childhood (both under the Bolsheviks and long before their revolution) that the well-being of the community, fatherland, state, people and something else like that is immeasurably more important<то личного благополучия, что добиваться личного счастья, не считаясь с интересами некоего коллектива, значит быть эгоистом. А это, конечно же, аморально, то есть очень-очень плохо.

It would seem that everything is simple: live for your own pleasure, achieve well-being for yourself. But what is it, this well-being? Eat deliciously and sleep sweetly? But the fact of the matter is that freedom is not at all necessary for such well-being. Moreover, it prevents you from receiving primitive pleasures from life, forcing you to think, make decisions, take risks and be responsible for your actions, at least to yourself. Apparently, it is no coincidence that the leaders of totalitarian neo-fascist regimes are popular. And the point is not at all in them as leaders, but in millions of people who are lazy in mind and thirst for the strongest possible power over themselves, since only it, strong power, can solve all their personal problems without delay and provide the opportunity to satisfy all their base instincts.

D. Kostygin

Frank O'Connor

Part one

PETER KEATING

Howard Roark laughed.

He stood naked on the edge of the cliff. At its foot was a lake. A splash of granite shot up into the sky and froze over the serene water. The water seemed motionless, the rock seemed floating. It felt the numbness of the moment when one stream merges with another - the oncoming one - and both freeze for a moment, more dynamic than the movement itself. The surface of the stone sparkled, generously licked by the sun's rays.

He stood against the sky, straightening his shoulders. The long straight lines of his strong body were connected by the angles of the joints; even the relief curves of the muscles seemed to be broken into tangents. Hands with palms outstretched hung down. He stood, feeling his squeezed shoulder blades, tense neck and the heaviness of blood rushing to his palms. The wind blew from behind - he felt it as a groove on his back - and ruffled his hair, not blond or brown, but exactly the color of a ripe orange peel.

He laughed at what had happened to him that morning and at what was yet to come.

He just tried to think about all these questions, but got distracted by looking at the granite.

Then he shook his head, remembering again what had happened this morning and how he had a lot to do. He walked to the very edge of the ledge, raised his hands and dived down.

Having crossed the lake, he climbed out onto the rocks on the opposite shore, where he left his clothes. He looked around regretfully. For three years, since he had settled in Stanton, whenever he could find an hour, which was not often, he came here to relax: to swim, to rest, to think, to be alone, to breathe deeply. Having gained freedom, the first thing he wanted to do was come here again. He knew that he would see these rocks and lake for the last time. This morning he was expelled from Stanton Institute of Technology's school of architecture.

Year: 1957
Publisher: Alpina Digital
Age limit: 16+
Volume: 1110 pp. 1 illustration
Genres: 20th century literature, Foreign classics

The story “The Source” is rightfully recognized as one of the masterpieces of the literary heritage of the 21st century. The work is very popular among lovers of dramatic prose and has been considered a bestseller for the last two decades.
The author of the novel, American writer Ayn Rand, will tell her audience the complex life story of a man named Howard Roark. Fate turned out to be unkind to him, because throughout his life he must constantly fight with the society that condemns him for the right to create. The man does not understand what he did wrong, because none of the people around him can really explain what the artist is to blame for.
To confront his enemies and critics, the hero of The Fountainhead must take extraordinary measures over and over again. Many actions embarrass and shame even him. But what can you do if this is your only chance to get people’s approval to do what you love?
Howard Roark's actions attract the attention of one of his few fans. A passionate romance develops between the book's characters, which makes the man forget about his struggle. Gradually the young man gets used to his beloved, but the further their relationship moves, the stronger his dependence becomes.
Soon the characters in the book begin to quarrel. The girl who saw her man as a rebel wants him to continue the fight. But now he himself does not want to confront his enemies and critics. Their relationship gradually reaches a dead end. The final break is the woman’s departure to the artist’s most hated enemy.
Will the creator be able to survive the separation and meanness of his beloved? Perhaps the girl’s departure will push him to more drastic actions? You can find out about this by reading the bestseller on our website.
From us you can always download “The Source” by Ayn Rand in the form of txt, fb2, rtf or epub files completely free of charge. On our portal you can also read the story online at a time convenient for you without registration.

Do you like to read books and always keep up with new releases? We have a large selection of books of various genres: classics, modern fiction, psychological literature and children's publications. In addition, we offer interesting and educational articles for aspiring writers and all those who want to learn how to write beautifully. Each of our visitors will be able to find something useful and exciting for themselves.

Annotation

For several decades, this novel has remained on the world bestseller list and has become a classic for millions of readers. The main character of the novel, Howard Roark, is fighting against society for his personal right to creativity. The fanatical inertia of those around him forces him to take extraordinary actions. And Roark’s relationship with a woman in love with him, who later becomes the wife of his worst enemy, is quite unusual. Through the twists and turns of the heroes' destinies and a fascinating plot, the author conveys the main idea of the book - the EGO is the source of human progress. The idea is unusual for Russia; the more interesting it will be for a wide range of readers to get acquainted with the heroes who affirm it with their lives.

Parts 1 - 2.

Ayn RAND
Source

PREFACE

So, dear reader, in your hands is the second volume of the collected works of Ayn Rand.

The novel “The Source” (in 2 books) is a work of a different order. It more clearly defines the author’s life position and shows the foundations of her philosophy.

However, a lover of exciting reading need not be afraid - there are no boring philosophical discussions in the novel. Despite the impressive volume, the plot is captivating from the first pages and it is very difficult to stop reading without knowing how this or that twist will end. And yet, The Fountainhead is largely a philosophical novel.

As a philosopher, A. Rand introduced a new moral theory, and as a novelist, she skillfully wove it into a fascinating work of fiction. What is the essence of this new morality?

Russian people were taught from childhood (both under the Bolsheviks and long before their revolution) that the well-being of the community, fatherland, state, people and something else like that is immeasurably more important<то личного благополучия, что добиваться личного счастья, не считаясь с интересами некоего коллектива, значит быть эгоистом. А это, конечно же, аморально, то есть очень-очень плохо.

Annotation

Ayn RAND Source

PREFACE

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Ayn RAND
Source