The Romantic Manifesto_ A Philosophy of Literature - Ayn Rand [40]
“She has.”
“She shouldn’t have!”
“Why not?”
“Look, Howard, you know that I’m terribly sorry about your being . . .”
“Forget it.”
“I . . . there’s something I want to speak to you about, Howard, to ask your advice. Mind if I sit down?”
“What is it?”
“You won’t think that it’s awful of me to be asking about my business, when you’ve just been . . . ?”
“I said forget about that. What is it?”
“You know, I’ve often thought that you’re crazy. But I know that you know many things about it—architecture, I mean—which those fools never knew. And I know that you love it as they never will.”
“Well?”
“Well, I don’t know why I should come to you, but—Howard, I’ve never said it before, but you see, I’d rather have your opinion on things than the Dean’s— I’d probably follow the Dean’s, but it’s just that yours means more to me myself, I don’t know why. I don’t know why I’m saying this, either.”
“Come on, you’re not being afraid of me, are you? What do you want to ask about?”
“It’s about my scholarship. The Paris prize I got.”
“Yes?”
“It’s for four years. But, on the other hand, Guy Francon offered me a job with him some time ago. Today he said it’s still open. And I don’t know which to take.”
“If you want my advice, Peter, you’ve made a mistake already. By asking me. By asking anyone. Never ask people. Not about your work. Don’t you know what you want? How can you stand it, not to know?”
“You see, that’s what I admire about you, Howard.
You always know.”
“Drop the compliments.”
“But I mean it. How do you always manage to decide?”
“How can you let others decide for you?”
This was the scene as it stands in the novel. Now here is the same scene, rewritten:
“Congratulations, Peter,” said Roark.
“Oh . . . Oh, thanks . . . I mean . . . do you know or . . . Has mother been telling you?”
“She has.”
“She shouldn’t have!”
“Oh well, I didn’t mind it.”
“Look, Howard, you know that I’m terribly sorry about your being expelled.”
“Thank you, Peter.”
“I . . . there’s something I want to speak to you about, Howard, to ask your advice. Mind if I sit down?”
“Go right ahead. I’ll be glad to help you, if I can.”
“You won’t think that it’s awful of me to be asking about my business, when you’ve just been expelled?”
“No. But it’s nice of you to say that, Peter. I appreciate it.”
“You know, I’ve often thought that you’re crazy.”
“Why?”
“Well, the kind of ideas you’ve got about architecture—there’s nobody that’s ever agreed with you, nobody of importance, not the Dean, not any of the professors . . . and they know their business. They’re always right. I don’t know why I should come to you.”
“Well, there are many different opinions in the world. What did you want to ask me?”
“It’s about my scholarship. The Paris prize I got.”
“Personally, I wouldn’t like it. But I know it’s important to you.”
“It’s for four years. But, on the other hand, Guy Francon offered me a job with him some time ago. Today he said it’s still open. And I don’t know which to take.”
“If you want my advice, Peter, take the job with Guy Francon. I don’t care for his work, but he’s a very prominent architect and you’ll learn how to build.”
“You see, that’s what I admire about you, Howard. You always know how to decide.”
“I try my best.”
“How do you do it?”
“I guess I just do it.”
“But you see, I’m not sure, Howard. I’m never sure of myself. You always are.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. But I guess I’m sure about my work.”
This is an example of “humanizing” a character.
A young reader to whom I showed this scene said with astonished indignation: “He’s not awful—he’s just completely ordinary!”
Let us analyze what the two scenes have conveyed. In the original scene, Roark is impervious to Keating’s or the world’s view of his expulsion. He does not even conceive of any “comparative standard,” of any relation between his expulsion and Keating’s success.
Roark is courteous to Keating, but completely indifferent.
Roark relents and shows a touch of friendliness only when Keating