Starpulse: “After years of delays, Ayn Rand’s famous novel ‘Atlas Shrugged’ is being made into a feature film starring Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, according to media reports. Lionsgate Films bought the rights to the film version of the 1957 novel, considered in many polls to be one of the most influential books in history. According to Hollywood trade paper Variety, the Mr. And Mrs. Smith co-stars, who are both fans of the Russian novelist, would play the lead roles of Dagny Taggart and John Gault. [sic]”
Return of the Reluctant has obtained an exclusive excerpt of the upcoming Atlas Shrugged script, which was reportedly written by Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie themselves.
INT. TAGGART TRANSCONTINENTAL OFFICE — DAY
Taggart is bent over the desk. Galt is behind her.
Your name is neither Jen nor Aniston. She is not selfish enough.
That’s why you came to me. It is the natural way of things.
If you do not give into your latent selfish desires, I will impregnate you again. Say it! Say it!
Who is John Galt?
That is quite a witticism. Again!
Galt handcuffs Taggart’s wrists.
I can’t hear you. If you do not have a response, I must ask you to whimper. I am an intense man, Dagny. Do not test me.
Who is John Galt?
Do you feel pain?
Yes. Pain is the best thing for America. Pain is the best thing for me, and therefore for America. We can build railroads. We can accumulate capital.
I am satisfied that you have come to terms with this concept. We can do more. This is a battle of wills. Who’s your daddy, Dagny?
John Galt!
(via Bookdwarf)
The Call by Yannick Murphy: The always interesting author of Here They Come and Signed, Mata Hari returns with a novel that whips up a worldview from a rather quirky set of limitations: namely, the call logs that a veterinarian maintains as his son is unexpectedly put into a coma and an unforgiving economy denies him work. What emerges is a surprisingly optimistic, often funny, and very moving account on how one family uses acceptance and forgiveness as a way to atone for hard knocks. (
Birds of Paradise by Diana Abu-Jaber: Forget Franzen and Eugenides. If you're looking for a social novel that counts, Diana Abu-Jaber is the author you're looking for. Building from the free-form exploration of consciousness and identity in Crescent and the gripping procedural structure of Origin, Abu-Jaber's latest novel is her finest, equally fluent with gutterpunk culture and smarmy real estate men. It has been suggested by The Washington Post's Ron Charles that you will likely gain some pounds while reading this novel. This is certainly true. Abu-Jaber's description of food is so precise that it often made me want to do more cooking. But I very much admired the way in which Abu-Jaber presents all her characters as unwitting victims of rough capitalism, which permits them some dignity even as they perform terrible acts.
The Last of the Live Nude Girls by Sheila McClear: This memoir isn't so much about the decline of the Times Square peepshow, as it is about one young woman's efforts to pull herself up by by her bootstraps when presented with few economic options. Filled with self-introspective candor and a quiet dignity, McClear's story is one that might befall any of us in these volatile times. While McClear does get back on her feet, her book leads one contemplating the terrible fates of other young women now moving to New York and falling into deadlier vocations. (
Glad to see you have regained some of your energies.
Ed, did you ever read Cintra Wilson’s novel “Colors Insulting to Nature”? I think it is wonderfully good, & it would be rather up your alley, it has similar anarchic humor with lots of crazy stuff going on! Do pick up a copy if you haven’t already….