Part 1: Peter Keating
Chapter 2
Wherein we discover who Peter Keating is, and Space Oddity's cryptic comments about Mrs Keating bear slightly disturbing fruit.
We start the chapter with a speech being given at the graduation ceremony for ASSIT (yes, I'm using that acronym forever so we can reflect on the consequences of people's decisions). Wherein, we have such pearls of wisdom like:
Beauty is a compelling goddess to all artists, be it in the shape of a lovely woman or a building… Hm… Yes….
And
May you all serve faithfully, neither as slaves to the past nor as those parvenus who preach originality for its own sake, which attitude is only ignorant vanity.
Neatly coming across as slightly skeevy and pretentious at the same time; I'm impressed. Our speaker is well, I'll let him tell you:
Guy Francon, of the illustrious firm of Francon & Heyer, vice-president of the Architects' Guild of America, member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters, member of the National Fine Arts Commission, Secretary of the Arts and Crafts League of New York, chairman of the Society for Architectural Enlightenment of the U.S.A.; Guy Francon, knight of the Legion of Honor of France, decorated by the governments of Great Britain, Belgium, Monaco and Siam; Guy Francon, Stanton's greatest alumnus, who had designed the famous Frink National Bank Building of New York City
Which is to say, he's really up himself and thinks he's the shit. This doesn't sound like the stereotypical architect at all.
He reflects on how fucking awesome of a sight he is, but
He wished, as he descended the steps, that this were a co-educational school.
I mean damn, what's even the point in being so magnificent when there aren't women to fawn over your magnificence, amirite Guy? You seem to be making up for it, though, all on your lonesome
The hall before him, he thought, was a splendid specimen of architecture, made a bit stuffy today by the crowd and by the neglected problem of ventilation. [...] It is, thought Guy Francon, touching; it was I who built this annex and this very hall, twenty years ago; and here I am.
Ah yes, since there are no women, you must make up the dearth by complimenting yourself and your work and marvelling at how truly amazing you are.
Then we move on, and come across
One of the heads, pale, dark haired and beautiful, belonged to Peter Keating.
Peter Keating, as I live and breathe! /southernbelle
Well that solves the mystery of who he is, anyway. We also begin to see why this Part is named after him. After all, he's Peter fucking Keating.
He was Peter Keating, star student of Stanton, president of the student body, captain of the track team, member of the most important fraternity, voted the most popular man on the campus.
The man everyone wants to be.
it was pleasant to hear this confirmation from so many eminent lips. He looked at the gray-haired orators and thought of how much younger he would be when he reached their positions, theirs and beyond them.
And humble, to boot.
So Peter muses on how good he is, but does engage in a moment of doubt that maybe he's not really the best. He thinks about his closest competitor, Ted Shlinker, but then he shakes it off.
And, he remembered, Roark had been very nice to him, helping him whenever he was stuck on a problem ... not stuck, really, just did not have the time to think it out, a plan or something. Christ! how Roark could untangle a plan, like pulling a string and it was open ... well, what if he could? What did it get him? He was done for now. And knowing this, Peter Keating experienced at last a satisfying pang of sympathy for Howard Roark.
Hey, hey guys, I found someone who doesn't completely hate Roark! I think. At least he's trying not to hate him. Really big of him. (yes, that's sarcastic)
Ted Shlinker had urged: "Of course you're coming, Pete. No fun without you. And, by the way, congratulations and all that sort of thing. No hard feelings. May the best man win." Keating had thrown his arm about Shlinker's shoulders; Keating's eyes had glowed with an insistent kind of warmth, as if Shlinker were his most precious friend; Keating's eyes glowed like that on everybody. He had said: "Thanks, Ted, old man. I really do feel awful about that A.G.A. medal—I think you were the one for it, but you never can tell what possesses those old fogies."
And hey, he didn't have to be mock-humble (or maybe real humble, who knows), so it's good of Peter to give good ol' Ted that sop his ego. It's more than our current favourite redhead would've done, so there's that.
Anyway, he commits to going out on the town with the boys but insists he's gotta get home first to spend some time with his mum. Which, is obviously Mrs. Keating, the lady who was a bit snotty to dear old Roark last chapter and I don't know how I didn't make that connection with the name in the friggin' Part title but oh well.
Interestingly, we get a smidgen of background on Mrs. Keating and… I'm reluctantly admiring of her.
His father had owned a stationery store in Stanton. Changing times had ended the business and a hernia had ended Peter Keating, Sr., twelve years ago. Louisa Keating had been left with the home that stood at the end of a respectable street, an annuity from an insurance kept up accurately—she had seen to that—and her son. The annuity was a modest one, but with the help of the boarders and of a tenacious purpose Mrs. Keating had managed.
Like, to be a single parent and pay to get your son through college is no small feat, particularly in the time this book was set/published. Lady's got grit. I can understand why she's so gratingly proud of him, even if it annoys me. And then Rand goes and ruins my admiration by talking about how she stomped on her son's dreams of being an artist which he is now reflecting on with sadness and pain.
It's funny, thought Keating, he had not remembered that youthful ambition of his for years. It's funny that it should hurt him now—to remember.
Because of course you would do that to me, Ayn. Why not.
Anyway, Peter ambles home and spots Roark hanging out on the porch.
Roark turned over on his side, looked at him, and laughed. It was a young, kind, friendly laughter, a thing so rare to hear from Roark that Keating felt as if someone had taken his hand in reassurance; and he forgot that he had a party in Boston waiting for him.
Wait wait wait, hold the phone. There's someone Roark feels something other than contempt and disdain for?
Also, anyone else seeing a ship here? Surely someone's done this, I can't be the only one who spotted it.
So Peter asks Howard for advice. He's trying to decide between a scholarship overseas, or to take on the job offered him by Guy Wanker, I mean Francon.
Predictably, Roark continues down his path of Other People's Opinions Don't Matter
"If you want my advice, Peter," he said at last, "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?"
Howard, don't you know that not everyone is as egocentric and arrogant, I mean confident, as you?
So, Mrs Keating steps out and finds Howard and Peter chatting and is all mock-upset (or maybe real upset) that they aren't inside when she's got a celebration dinner all set up. They hustle inside, where Peter tries and fails to recapture the feeling of bonhomie that he'd had going with Howard before his mother so rudely interrupted. He fails, and comes off a bit of a dick.
"Look, Howard, drop the pose," he said, his voice high. "Shall I junk the scholarship and go to work, or let Francon wait and grab the Beaux-Arts to impress the yokels? What do you think?" Something was gone. The one moment was lost.
Meanwhile, Mrs Keating is all afluster and is passive aggressively insulted at her son while also trying to fish for what she wants. She thus obligates Peter to begrudgingly ask her, too, even though he doesn't really care what she has to say.
"You're quite right, Peter," said Mrs. Keating, rising. "On a question like that you don't want to consult your mother. It's too important. I'll leave you to settle it with Mr. Roark." He looked at his mother. He did not want to hear what she thought of this; he knew that his only chance to decide was to make the decision before he heard her; she had stopped, looking at him, ready to turn and leave the room; he knew it was not a pose—she would leave if he wished it; he wanted her to go; he wanted it desperately. He said: "Why, Mother, how can you say that? Of course I want your opinion. What ... what do you think?"
She, of course, does what we nowadays consider a very cliched, stereotypical female thing and doesn't tell him what she thinks exactly, but gets very passive aggressive when he picks the choice that she doesn't want him to take.
"Petey, I never think anything. It's up to you. It's always been up to you." "Well ..." he began hesitantly, watching her, "if I go to the Beaux-Arts ..." "Fine," said Mrs. Keating, "go to the Beaux-Arts. It's a grand place. A whole ocean away from your home. Of course, if you go, Mr. Francon will take somebody else. People will talk about that. Everybody knows that Mr. Francon picks out the best boy from Stanton every year for his office. I wonder how it'll look if some other boy gets the job? But I guess that doesn't matter." "What ... what will people say?" "Nothing much, I guess. Only that the other boy was the best man of his class. I guess he'll take Shlinker."
Ooooh *winces* and she goes right for the weakest spot. This woman pulls no punches to get what she wants, does she? And she knows just where to push, too, as all mothers do. Still, this is a less than edifying picture we're currently getting of motherhood.
"Mother, you want me to take the job with Francon?"
"I don't want anything, Petey. You're the boss."
Honestly, lady, I feel like this is actually doing more damage than good in the long run.
He did not know whether there was any reason why he should respect her judgment. She was his mother; this was supposed to take the place of reasons.
And after all she's done for you, Petey *sob*
But no, for real, I feel this. Our society really does push that family transcends most things, even now, and if your family's against it, overtly or not, it's incredibly hard to buck that and go your own way. And especially because she's given up so much for her son, I can imagine the weight of that could be difficult to overcome.
At any rate, Howard Roark chimes in at this point to say that he actually agrees and thinks Peter should take up the job with Francon, and offers a backhanded compliment to Keating about his work while he's at it.
"Do you really think that I do good work?" Keating looked at him, as if his eyes still held the reflection of that one sentence—and nothing else mattered. "Occasionally," said Roark. "Not often."
Damn dude, that's cold. Peter was looking to you for approval and you smacked him down.
Mrs Keating is obviously overjoyed, and hurries off to bring in the celebratory meal. But not before
She smiled at her son, an innocent smile that declared her obedience and gratitude
*gags*
Like, I don't love that for anyone to do to anybody but for a mother to her son? Fuck no. Ew ew ew ew ew ew ew stop.
….
Nope, still disgusting. Ew. God ew. Ew.
Ew.
I expected better from you, Louisa, I really did.
ANYWAY.
Peter asks Roark what his plans are, now that he's been kicked out of school.
"I'm going to work for Henry Cameron."
"Oh, no, Howard!"
Henry Cameron being the byword at the college for a successful architect who became or is now considered something of a hack.
Keating continues on about how the Cameron guy's the worst, and Roark won't get anywhere working for him. Roark is quietly confident.
At any rate, it's at this point that Petey breaks the bad news to his mother that he's actually headed into Boston with the boys and not to wait up, despite her protestations about the food she made to celebrate.
"Never mind, Mother!" He seized her elbows. "I'm in a hurry, sweetheart.
Sweetheart? You… *sputters*
She's your mother and you call her sweetheart?!
I am so so so concerned about this mother-son relationship, I don't even begin to have the words.
Also, before he disappears into the night, Peter pens a hasty note.
"Katie dearest coming New York job Francon love ever "Peter"
What's this? A lady love? Does Mommy Dearest know?
He then hops into the car with the lads and is off, dreaming about how he's going to be an architect.
Sorry, ran behind schedule in updating this. Life's been hectic, to say the least.
Okay! So we meet the famous Peter Keating. He seems more human and relatable than Howard, which admittedly isn't hard to achieve. But can I just say, I find his relationship with his mom to be weird. It also irks me that she's this passive aggressive twittery sort of... person. As someone who had the cajones to raise a son, bring in income, and send him to college, I would've expected her to stand up for herself and what she wants, even if I'm not a fan of the way she goes about it. Instead, she fawns over him like he's the bloody centre of her entire existence. It's actually slightly nauseating. I mean, maybe there's some kind of argument for her standing up for herself in how she's being passive aggressive? But in my experience, you're only like that if you feel like you don't have any power, which is clearly not how Peter feels about it, so I don't get her approach to him here.
As for Howard, well, I can see the logic behind his strategy to go work for Henry Cameron. I mean, Cameron will likely not care, and presumably once Roark starts producing what he wants to produce, there's more scope to attract the sorts of people to him rather than being subject to the whims of clients and whatnot. I imagine that's why he's going down the Cameron path, anyway.
Anyway, all up, we had less sexual innuendo but what we did have was deeply disturbing. Also, what's the deal with this Katie girl? She's obviously in New York.
Random tally of random things:
Possible sexual innuendos or maybe I'm just dirty-minded: 2 (but oh god I wish it didn't even exist)
People who dislike Roark for unidentifiable reasons: Everyone minus one Peter Keating. Or maybe half, since he can't seem to make up his mind.