Atlas Had Scoliosis

I read Atlas Shrugged when I was 15, and I'm okay.

I think I was 15. Might have been younger. I was with a bunch of friends, older fellas, you know, and one of them shoved an old, dog-earred copy of it into my hands. "C'mon, man," he said. "Everyone's doing it."

So, I read it, okay? I experimented with an Ayn Rand novel. But I didn't inhale. In fact, as I recall, I skipped the manifesto in the middle.

But I am a rare case. Ayn Rand novels are a nothing but a gateway. They lead poor, impressionable youngsters to become libertarians and generally to vote Republican, little Robbie Goulds with their notes in the margins, socking these overweight monstrosities away in their pockets, well-thumbed diatribes chronicling mythic characters, meant to persuade people to a "philosophy" of "objectivism." The holy grail of these books is pure self-interest, which Rand argued was the only true ethical path.

These are the ideas that are driving today's political economy. And, like the Communist Manifesto, the stuff might look good on paper if you hold it at an angle, but put into practice is a freaking nightmare.

I saw one of them today, an impressionable young lad, not yet 20 pages into it on the subway. I wanted to go to him and say, stop, you don't have to go through with it. You don't have to read Ayn Rand to be "cool." It will only be harder to stop once you start. And I am just on the edge of suggesting that Ayn Rand novels be kept behind the counter, only to be sold to those 35 years old and up, but I am a liberal and therefore believe that even Ayn Rand novels are protected by the First Amendment.

But be careful with that stuff, kids. Look around, and you can see how dangerous it is.