I looked up my review for The Fountainhead to get some context for this one, and was surprised when it turned out I had read it almost exactly one year ago. Seems like longer...

The Fountainhead, good as it was, was certainly flawed in many ways, so I had high hopes for Atlas Shrugged since people keep calling it Rand's best book, and only its imposing size kept me from reading it sooner.

I have to disagree with those people since I think this is a worse book than The Fountainhead. That one follows one of the ancient themes of storytelling, recounting one man's struggle against enormous opposition to achieve his dreams. In Atlas Shrugged, at first it seems like the same thing on a bigger scale, but it soon descends into passivity as all the main actors disappear one by one and all that is left is Rand's endless speeches describing her philosophy, culminating in the 60-page monologue at the end. I don't think I've ever read anything so slowly as that monologue; it contains some interesting thoughts but they could certainly be described more compactly.

Rand's views on sexuality are even more bizarre in this book than in The Fountainhead. Dagny jumps from one man to the next and then spouts absurd reasons for doing so.

I think I'm done with Rand for now. I might reread certain passages now and then but as a literary author I don't think I have the stomach for her anymore (it's not like she wrote any fiction after this one anyway...).