Ayn Rand's asshole utopia.
Good Lord. Galt is, after all, the sort of man who has absolutely no qualms about sacrificing the entire human race - including millions of what he and his industrialist clique call the "neutrals" - in order to remake the world in his image and his rather frightening view of "justice". This pretty much amounts to being complicit in IQ-based eugenic slaughter. The bureaucrats and "moochers" who are the story's villains are never in much danger; at worst they'll have to abdicate and retire somewhere while leaving the government to Galt. It's everybody else who's left to perish in food riots all over the U.S. The only likely survivors of Galt's "strike" are the brilliant folks in the valley (brilliant in a technical sense, mind you, or at least in the service of effectively promoting a tech-fundamentalist worldview) or those wily, smart or mean enough to stay alive outside it until the brains within deign to return.
And even if you're willing to ignore Galt's willingness to help exterminate all those who can't appreciate his genius, Galt is a hopeless snob even among his potential allies. With a few token exceptions, everyone who gets invited to the Industrialist Utopian Valley is already rich and famous, or at least has invented some gadget that Galt can play with. On the other hand, the gangs of workers who abandon the Taggart Trains - although their own "strikes" pretty well proves they share Galt's meritocratic laissez-faire philosophy and rebellion against a corrupt system - just get left to the anarchist hell on earth that Galt and his buddies are doing everything in their power to hasten. The basic idea, lost in all the Invisible Hand rhetoric, seems to be that if all those railway men had been as brainy and otherwise perfect as Galt with his impossible motor and glowing copper hair etc. etc., they would have more than just railroad workers, right? And that's not even to mention Eddie Willers, the only moral character in the whole book, who of course gets to die melodramatically sobbing on the train track because, well, frankly he too just isn't smart - or, frankly, amoral - enough to go bide his time in Asshole Nirvana.
And that's just the big stuff. While Ayn Rand pokes good fun at a world of pretentious philosophic bores like Balph Eubank, for snooze-inducing hubris surely nothing can top Galt's 56-page radio speech to a starving nation, in which he mangles first year undergrad logic in the service of sneering about how screwed everybody is without him. He's the sort who feels it imperative to inform his lover at several crucial moments that only cares about her through his own rational self-interest, seeing as she's the best he can get. (This speech, variants of which are also made by Dagny's other lovers, is usually followed by Dagny getting thrown against some sort of surface or having her dress ripped off or - if time is lacking for violent intercourse - being given condescending instructions about what to wear the next time they meet.) Perhaps trying to compensate for something, Galt also thinks placing a giant gold dollar sign on a hill overlooking a village constitutes an appealing aesthetic statement.
Heroic novels sort of depend on having a hero worth rooting for. In Atlas Shrugged there's never even the tiniest bit of authorial uncertainty about who's going to turn out to be "right", yet the book works for the first 700 pages precisely because you're able to root for Dagny and Hank and Eddie as they try to save their own world - our world, more or less - from the horrors of Randism. In the end, they too, inevitably, are corrupted enough to shrug off the world, or - in Eddie's case - are destroyed by their refusal to do so. It's all pretty depressing.
Amazingly though, Galt may not actually be the epitome of Randian masculinity. I'm told that in The Fountainhead the hero actually rapes someone.


