Ayn Rand

I don't believe in coincidences; I'm convinced there's an underlying reason why concurrent events seem to occur without apparent causal connection. For instance, on Thursday I noticed that Sara has got stuck into yet another blockbusting classic novel. It was lodged on the corner of the kitchen table, as big as a brick but far more interesting with an arresting cover that caught my eye: Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. Hmmm... I sat down, cup of green tea in hand and started reading. My allotted fifteen minutes passed far too quickly and I reluctantly returned the tome to its resting place before returning myself to my workstation.

Last night, as the world outside my window was blanketed in a white duvet, I dived into my pre-heated bed to watch another episode of Mad Men (set in the glamorous world of a Madison Avenue advertising agency in the 60s – it's excellent), the series that Santa so kindly left at my request. I was deep in episode eight when advertising exec, Donald Draper, was handed a cheque for $2,500 by his boss who pointed to a large book on his shelf and asked: "Have you read her? Rand, Atlas Shrugged. That’s the one." He looked meaningfully at his employee and advised him to take $1.99 and buy himself a copy! It was obviously a sign, aimed at the reader in me to go out and get myself a copy post-haste.

Alisa Zinov'yevna Rosenbaum was born in Russia (1905 – 1982). She studied, at the University of Petrograd, in the department of social pedagogy, majoring in history and was an ardent student of Aristotle, Pluto and Nietzsche. On her emigration to the US in 1926, she decided on Ayn Rand as a professional name for her writing and began her career as a screenwriter in Hollywood. Rand embraced philosophical realism and objectivism the essence of which she described as, "the concept of man as a heroic being, with his own happiness as the moral purpose of his life, with productive achievement as his noblest activity, and reason as his only absolute."

Of all her writing, she is best remembered for two of her novels: The Fountainhead, written in 1943, a slim volume that concentrates on the life of architect Howard Roark who struggles in obscurity rather than compromise his personal and artistic vision. And also Atlas Shrugged, published in 1957, that tells of a man who said that he would stop the motor of the world - and did. When the character Francisco d’Anconia is asked what sort of advice someone would give Atlas, he replied that he’d tell him "to shrug". Well, I for one, am intrigued!

Kris Kindle

One thing's for sure, seeing as we all work in the trade no one is going to get a book for Kris Kindle, more's the pity. When I picked Ruth's name out of the hat I knew exactly what she'd like. We've worked together long enough, shared and enjoyed so many of the same books, discussed food ad nauseum in our tiny canteen, so picking a gift for Ruth would be child's play for me. Dermot, on the other hand, drew a complete blank when he picked Robin's name from the few remaining scraps of paper. "What on earth will I get him!" he intoned scratching his head at the same time. "Leave it to me", I gaily assured him, "I'll have it sorted out in a jiffy". The tension lifted from his furrowed brow as I made a beeline for the office. After discussing some pertinent business I casually asked Robin if he preferred to buy the beans to grind his own coffee and what, if any brand, would he recommend as I wanted to get some for a very good friend. Robin, a man who can't get through the day without the help of gallons of this richly aromatic beverage, waxed lyrical on the subject: the taste, the occasional simulated heart attack resulting from too many cups of the stuff, the possibility of spending a vast fortune on a deluxe machine, the label, the name, the price and even where to buy his favourite brand of the magic brew. Sorted!

"Dermot, I've solved all your problems!" As I had already arranged to go to this particular shop later in the week, I promised to pick up a couple of packs and all Dermot would have to do was wrap. He was well pleased indeed.

Fast forward twenty four hours: Brinnnng, brinnnng! My mobile phone rattled away on the kitchen table at eight in the evening and Robin's name came up. Thoughts raced through my head: Problems at work. I was fired! The place was flooded. He wanted me in a six in the morning to get the place ready for the Christmas rush. "Hi Robin, how's it going?" Mind still running around as we got over the pleasantries. "You know that coffee you were looking for? Well, I'm here in the shop now", he said, "we're getting the weekend groceries and there's an offer on. Would you like me to pick you up some?" I resisted the urge to tell him that there was no mystery friend, that I didn't actually drink coffee at all, and that the deliciously roasted beans were for him. "Oh, thank you very much, that's great. I'd love it."

Back to the drawing board, Dermot.

Seeing as I now have three packs of delicious ground coffee, I picked up I Love Coffee! Over 100 Easy and Delicious Coffee Drinks by Susan Zimmer which shows how to make "cappuccinos, iced coffee quenchers, after-dinner coffee desserts and classy coffee martinis". I hope my guests over the Christmas period will be suitably impressed, and probably very surprised.

One For All

A classic is a book that doesn't have to be written again, according to Pulitzer Prize winner Carl Van Doren.

I mean who would want to alter a word of David Copperfield? How could anyone resist the lyrically formed Jane Eyre? Who would dare cut a single page from Anna Karenina?

When I had read everything from the pen of Jane Austen, I went into a blue funk, wanting more of her deceptively simple tales of families, disappointments and love. Through the occasionally gloomy Thomas Hardy, I met with the unfortunate Jude Fawley, trapped in a loveless marriage; the young and tragically beautiful Tess driven out of her home through poverty; and the despicable Michael Henchard who sold his wife and baby daughter for five guineas at a country fair.

Ruth, a fellow traveller in the book world, loves a good yarn.

Her nose is permanently stuck in something gripping, the eerie underworld of crime reaching out and drawing her in. And she’s not averse to a spot of romance, or even a tale of wanderlust in the back of beyond. But for the last week she’s been stuck into The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas – a thick wedge of a book, brim full of action and adventure. "Oh, it’s much better than the film", she murmured before sinking back into a slump, eyes racing across the page, all further conversation a distraction to this passionate reader. I don’t expect to have a proper conversation with Ruth for some time; she’ll be far away in 19th century Paris with D’Artagnan and his friends Athos, Porthos and Aramis, fighting duels, crossing the English Channel, getting mixed up in politics, consorting with criminals and Countesses all while avoiding the evil eye of Cardinal Richelieu.

So, if you’re in between books with nothing new on the horizon, choose a classic – they come in every size, cater for all tastes – and tear yourself away from your present woes. You could dive into a tempestuous romance, discover the delights of David Copperfield (my favourite book ever), or enter a world where it’s un pour tous, tous pour un!