First Sentence: “‘Who is John Galt?’”

The question is posed by a nameless bum, yellow glints from the “metal yellow of the sky” reflect in his eyes. He is addressing Eddie Willers, who acts cagey and tense. Despite the familiarity assumed in the first question, the bum had merely asked Eddie for a dime for coffee. Eddie gives him the dime and walks on. He wonders about the uneasiness he always feels this time of day, and how the bum seemed to tap into it and understand this sense of dread. We have no idea who John Galt is, or why his name makes Eddie so uncomfortable.

The city is described as grimy and disintegrating, cracks 10 stories high run down buildings like lightening. It’s September 2^nd in New York City—there had been a giant calendar erected on top of a building last year by the major, and this calendar makes Eddie vaguely uncomfortable as well. He tries to remember a quote, but fails.

He is walking down 5^th Avenue, window shopping, but every fourth shop is out of business. The city seems almost apocalyptic in its emptiness, there are no other people described.

Eddie randomly remembers an oak tree from his childhood summers on the Taggart Estate on page 13 (the novel starts on 11). It is hundreds of years old and Eddie remembered thinking that a giant wouldn’t be able to uproot it. He remembers the night lightening struck the tree and broke it in half, and the middle was empty, the heartwood having rotted away. This sense of betrayal—vague and unspoken—had scarred him more than death, pain, or fear. Then he remembered a childhood friend asking him what he wanted to do with his life, and he responded, “Whatever is right.” He had always stood by that.

He finally enters Taggart Transcontinental: “The building stood over the street as its tallest and proudest structure” (14). The windows aren’t broken and the edges aren’t worn down like the neighboring buildings. He thinks, “It would always stand there,” and the reader is reminded of the oak on the previous page.

The inside of the building is immaculate, the walls rumbling from trains arriving and departing. He thinks Taggart’s slogan, “From Ocean to Ocean,” is grander than anything in the Bible, which is also rather foreboding.

Eddie enters James Taggart’s office, the second character to be introduced after four pages of apocalyptic description. He is slumped, limp, and resentful, looking 20 years older than his actual 39 years. “Don’t bother me, don’t bother me, don’t bother me,” is the first dialogue on page 15. Eddie persists and tells James that the Rio Norte Line has had another wreck and that the whole line is done for. James accuses Eddie of being a pessimist and lacking faith. They have been waiting for the new track from Associated Steel for 13 months, and Eddie doesn’t believe the track will ever arrive. James gets angrier, saying Orren Boyle, the owner of Associated Steel is his friend, and he’ll come through. The two men continue to argue over competing train lines and the Wyatt oil fields. James accuses Ellis Wyatt of being a money-grubbing upstart for not doing business with Taggart, damns his sister for her opinions (unstated), and Eddie finally takes his leave, puzzled at Taggart’s stubbornness.

Eddie leaves the president’s office and meets Pop Harper, the antiquated chief clerk that had worked for James’ father. Pop is trying to fix an old typewriter and goes on a disheartened rant on pages 19-20 about the state of life in general, which leads to a page break: “I’m not going to requisition a new typewriter. The new ones are made of tin. When the old ones go, that will be the end of typewriting. There was an accident in the subway this morning, their breaks wouldn’t work… They closed the Queensborough Bridge yesterday for temporary repairs. Oh well, what’s the use? Who is John Galt?”

After the break, a woman sits on a night train, looking out the window. She was listening to the train wheels and a symphony by Richard Halley—she tries to relax, but seems to struggle with the idea. Suddenly she sits up with the question, “When did Richard Halley write this?” and turns to find that it’s only an employee whistling the theme and fiddling with the air conditioner. She asks him what it is he’s whistling and he cheerfully responds that it’s the Halley Concerto Number 5. She tells him that Halley only wrote 4. He clams up immediately and walks away. What conspiracy could this indicate?

She hasn’t slept in two days, but has too many problems to do so. She wishes she could reach New York more quickly, but the Taggart Comet is the fastest train in the country. She lights a cigarette, and falls asleep.

She jerks awake to find the train has been stopped in the middle of nowhere for nearly an hour. She gets off the train and talks to the workers standing by the engine, asking them what’s wrong with an air of authority. They are off the main track, they don’t know why, and are waiting for the red light to turn green. They opine that the signal is broken, but there is no one to fix it, and they refuse to run the light. In the middle of the discussion on page 23, she asks, “How long to you propose to wait?” and the engineer responds, “Who is John Galt?” “He means,” said the fireman, “don’t ask questions nobody can answer.” She orders them to continue to the main track, finally stating her name: Dagny Taggart.

The conductor accompanies her back to her seat, saying her brother never would have taken a coach seat. After they depart, one of the workers states, “That’s who runs Taggart Transcontinental.” Back in her seat and watching the black fields rush by again, Dagny realizes that the whole operation has been crumbling, that it’s time to kick James Taggart out, but she hasn’t found a good man for his replacement.

After the break on 24, the Taggart Comet pulls into Taggart Terminal in New York. She steps off the train, whistling the mysterious Halley Fifth Concerto, while the young train employee watches her tensely.

There’s another break on page 25, where Dagny faces James in his office. Eddie takes notes—he is Dagny’s special assistant whose main duty is to guard against wasted time. She tells James that she’s ordered steel from Rearden Steel to repair the Rio Norte line—she is definitely the woman in charge and full of a need for action. She has canceled the account with Associated Steel, and James is petulant about her lack of the “human element.” He argues Rearden is big enough without their business.

Apparently, the rails are going to be made from Rearden metal, a new metal alloy that has everyone skeptical, except Dagny. Her plans for Taggart run contrary to everything voiced by James: she will build any rail for the Wyatt oil wells, and refuses to consider the Mexican line a solid investment, arguing that it will get nationalized any day now. James hems and haws, finally buckling under his sister’s drive and money lust. She’ll take full responsibility for the decision.

As Dagny is leaving James’ office, he fires one more personal blow on page 30: “Other people are human. They’re sensitive. They can’t devote their whole life to metals and engines. You’re lucky—you’ve never had any feelings. You’ve never felt anything at all.”

Once in her office, Dagny calls the President of Ayers Music Publishing Company to ask if Richard Halley had written a fifth concerto. He says that Halley hasn’t written anything for 8 years.

A man named Owen Kellogg is shown into Dagny’s office and abruptly says he’s quitting Taggart Transcontinental. None of her offers budge him and he refuses to say why he’s quitting, and ends the chapter with a repetition of the vague statement: “Who is John Galt?”

Chapter two begins on page 33 with dark buildings appearing to passengers streaking by on a night train: “The passengers could not grasp the complexity of what seemed to be a city stretched for miles, active without sign of human presence.” This is yet another city scene that seems apocalyptic in its emptiness. The train finally passes a labeled office building entitled Rearden Steel. As the train speeds away, the factory adds heat to its first production of Rearden Metal. Inside the factory, the liquid metal is described as both violent, beautiful, and as “innocent as children’s sparklers” (34).

Hank Rearden leans against a column in the dark, watching the production, with his expressionless, cruel face. He leaves his office late, deciding to walk across miles of empty country from the mills to his home. He flashes back on his memories of failure upon failure of trying to invent the metal alloy, how he ignored pain for work, and the days he bought ore mines and closing steel mills. Rearden touches a bracelet made from the first poured metal for his wife—he is reluctant to leave work for family life, he is truly a man without emotion, which draws an obvious character connection to Dagny Taggart.

Hank enters his house where his wife Lillian, his brother Philip, his mother, and his old friend Paul are talking. Lillian and his mother are sarcastic and passive aggressive about him returning so late. He is roundly chastised for working too much, which makes Hank irritated and resentful. All he can think about is the sight of that bright hot metal. Lillian says that she’s planning a big party for three months from now and asks if he can write it in—her innocence and gaiety are covering some trump card. She reminds him that it will be their wedding anniversary. Hank promises to be there.

He finally announces his big news on page 41: that tonight they poured the first Rearden Metal. Philip says, “Well, that’s nice.” The rest are silent. He presents the bracelet to Lillian and she is unimpressed. Hank has been thoroughly set apart from the rest of the family in all of his intentions—he doesn’t seem to have any real desire to be a part of their group, but has made the effort, which was frustrated. The members of his family continue to berate and defend him, but Hank doesn’t listen: “Did he like them? No, he thought; he had wanted to like them, which was not the same… Did he want any person as part of his life? Did he miss the feeling he had wanted to feel? No, he thought. Had he ever missed it? Yes, he thought, in his youth; not any longer.”

Paul sits closer to Hank and proceeds to warn him about his bad press. He suggests hiring a publicist for Rearden’s public image, which Hank rejects with apathy for public opinion. Hank is suddenly reenergized and sees this present group of people as helpless, weak, and nervous. He asks his brother Philip what he did today, which was asking businessmen for donations toward psychology and cooperative farming. Hank impulsively donates $10,000 but is disappointed in the lack of enthusiasm he is met with. Philip asks for it in cash so Rearden Steel wouldn’t be listed as a contributor since it represents all his organization is against. Chapter two ends on page 48 with Lillian’s especially harsh words: “‘What would happen to [Hank’s] vanity is he didn’t have us to throw alms to? What would become of his strength if he didn’t have weaker people to dominate? … She took the metal bracelet and held it up, letting it glitter in the lamplight. ‘A chain,’ she said. ‘Appropriate, isn’t it? It’s the chain by which he holds us all in bondage.’” This statement is incredibly harsh, and the reader can’t help but feel pity for Hank Rearden.

Chapter three is set in the most expensive barroom in New York in the roof of a skyscraper. The bar is low, dark, and cellar-like despite it being 60 floors above the city. Four men sit at a cramped table: Orren Boyle of Associated Steel, James Taggart, Paul Larkin, the friend of Hank Rearden, and Wesley Mouch. They are discussing the lost Taggart contract. Boyle makes excuses about the universal shortage of iron ore and Rearden’s monopoly on the industry, Taggart leaves all blame on his sister for the decision, and Mouch passively agrees with everything. Page 50 has Boyle bent on taking down Rearden and James Taggart agrees with the sentiment—the meeting definitely feels clandestine and an act of foreshadowing.

Atlas Shrugged is definitely propelled by its expansive plot. A lot seems to be happening and it’s all big: big corporations exchanging big money contracts, big executives throwing their weight, and an oppressive presence of something even bigger and unstated. The novel itself it big, at a whopping 1069 pages. The characters, for some reason, feel like they’re out of the 20’s and should be wearing fur and fedoras. The men have chiseled features and the women are slender and swan-like—I would be hard pressed to find a truly unique attribute on anyone, and characters rarely develop beyond their basic outline. For example, James Taggart is set up as a villain and he is appropriately stooped, droopy-eyed, and underhanded. Despite this possible weakness in character development, however, the book reads quickly, propelled by its plot.

It’s possible that I’m taking into consideration Ayn Rand’s past themes, but there seems to be an over-arching conspiracy in this novel. So far it’s unstated, but the unexplained presence of John Galt’s name, the mysterious 5^th concerto by Halley, and the general tone of post-apocalypse city survival gives the novel a nightmarish undercurrent. If I were an agent and this were Rand’s first novel, I would definitely make her cut it down by 500 pages or so but I was sucked in by its first 50 pages.