It is cold and rainy here, but you’ll here no complaints from me. You might hear me complain about other people complaining though. There is much hand wringing over the fact that it “snowed” yesterday. Giant whatevers.

The guest on the Daily Show last night was the woman who wrote Ayn Rand and the American Right. I hadn’t heard of it, but now I want to buy it. I’m not Randroid – I’ve said before I that I can take or leave her philosophical writings — but this looks quite interesting. The author brought up Rand as a reaction to FDR, which is something I addressed in my senior thesis in college, so it was exciting to hear.

Additionally, I liked what the author had to say about Rand’s fiction. There are a thousand and one jokes made at Rand’s (and her book’s) expense because really, Rand is a drama queen. Her fiction is overwrought and yes, Atlas Shrugged does include a 60+ page speech by the “hero” that basically just spits out her “philosophy.” But the author honed in on what Rand’s fiction has always done for me – you can read about the main characters and they can inspire you.

And lord knows there have been plenty of times where I’ve admitted to wanting to be Dagny Taggart. For anyone who has read Atlas Shrugged , says the authors, this invokes the entire narrative. You don’t have to explain what it means, beyond “I want to be Dagny Taggart.” That’s all you have to say.

Of course, given that Rand is also hated, this could certainly stir up some negative connotations. But the first time I read Atlas Shrugged I was 18 (the perfect age to read Rand: you think you know everything) and the parts where the metaphorical camera is on Dagny’s thoughts, and connected with her more than any other literary character. (Also, Hank Rearden = Hot) For all of her faults, for all of my mistaken attempts at stoicism as a result, she taught me a lot.

This isn’t very light reading for a Friday, so I’ll leave you with an excerpt of one of my favorite passages, from my absolute favorite part of Atlas Shrugged.

“She felt no anger towards anyone on earth. The things she had endured had now receded into some outer fog, like pain that still exists, but has no power to hurt. Those things could not stand in the face of this moment’s reality, the meaning of this day was as brilliantly, violently clear as the splashes of sun on the silver of the engine, all men had to perceive it now, no one could doubt it and she had no one to hate.”