What do you think?
Rate this book
The Fountain
"A magic elixir that confers stupendous creative powers on talentless people set the Chicago art world on its ear in this satirical novel. A passionate mediation on art wrapped in a hilarious sendup of artistic pretentions." - Kirkus (Starred Review)
Two no-talents nobodies have each created a masterpiece in a kiddie art exhibit at a museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago. That critic over there wants to rep them. Be their manager. Guide their careers.
That critic? He’s going to find out that maybe, just maybe, they both drank from a fountain on the third floor of the museum. Maybe it’s the water that made them geniuses. Regardless, their legacy is secure. They will be remembered. Celebrated.
How jealous would you be? Just one drink. And you could be the celebrated one. But shortly thereafter, you die.
Maybe.
The Fountain follows four characters pulled into an existential riptide.
• Jasper P. Duckworth, a washed-up art critic and failed playwright, who wants to champion the fountain.
• Ross Robards, a successful TV show artist and veteran, who wants to destroy the fountain.
Caught in the middle of this impending minor apocalypse are two underground artists:
• B, a middle-aged sculptor, always on the verge of a big break. Will he drink?
• Jawbon, B’s talented, but self-destructive rival. Will she drink?
Would you drink?
If you’ve ever had a creative idea, urge, or just wanted to call bullshit on something hanging in a museum, you might feel the pull of The Fountain, a literary dramedy in the vein of Vonnegut, Palahniuk, and Monty Python.
Introduction by Pinckney Benedict
Warning: Side effects may include: ego inflammation, FOMO, flashbulb eyes, aphenphosmphobia, loss of privacy, stalkeritis, champagne lips, laryngospasm, combat finger, IBS, loss of common sense, cocaine tongue, chronomentrophobia, and a slight chance of a minor apocalypse. Consult your spiritual advisor before imbibing.
Two no-talents nobodies have each created a masterpiece in a kiddie art exhibit at a museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago. That critic over there wants to rep them. Be their manager. Guide their careers.
That critic? He’s going to find out that maybe, just maybe, they both drank from a fountain on the third floor of the museum. Maybe it’s the water that made them geniuses. Regardless, their legacy is secure. They will be remembered. Celebrated.
How jealous would you be? Just one drink. And you could be the celebrated one. But shortly thereafter, you die.
Maybe.
The Fountain follows four characters pulled into an existential riptide.
• Jasper P. Duckworth, a washed-up art critic and failed playwright, who wants to champion the fountain.
• Ross Robards, a successful TV show artist and veteran, who wants to destroy the fountain.
Caught in the middle of this impending minor apocalypse are two underground artists:
• B, a middle-aged sculptor, always on the verge of a big break. Will he drink?
• Jawbon, B’s talented, but self-destructive rival. Will she drink?
Would you drink?
If you’ve ever had a creative idea, urge, or just wanted to call bullshit on something hanging in a museum, you might feel the pull of The Fountain, a literary dramedy in the vein of Vonnegut, Palahniuk, and Monty Python.
Introduction by Pinckney Benedict
Warning: Side effects may include: ego inflammation, FOMO, flashbulb eyes, aphenphosmphobia, loss of privacy, stalkeritis, champagne lips, laryngospasm, combat finger, IBS, loss of common sense, cocaine tongue, chronomentrophobia, and a slight chance of a minor apocalypse. Consult your spiritual advisor before imbibing.
- GenresContemporary
433 pages, Paperback
First published May 25, 2011
3 people are currently reading
83 people want to read
About the author
David Scott Hay
10 books62 followersButcher link: https://www.davidscotthay.com/
DSH is an award-winning playwright and screenwriter. As a novelist, he is a 2x Kirkus Prize Nominee.
He is Managing Editor of Whiskey Tit's new horror imprint HEADLESS.
He currently lives with his wife and son and dog and a dozen typewriters in a valley between the ocean, the mountains, and the desert.
DSH is an award-winning playwright and screenwriter. As a novelist, he is a 2x Kirkus Prize Nominee.
He is Managing Editor of Whiskey Tit's new horror imprint HEADLESS.
He currently lives with his wife and son and dog and a dozen typewriters in a valley between the ocean, the mountains, and the desert.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
June 22, 2023
The Fountain is a profound exploration of the human condition, delving into themes of love, sacrifice, and the timeless quest for immortality – an extraordinary literary achievement. Hay’s narrative prowess captivates the reader as he deftly explores the complex nuances of life and the profound impact our choices can have on both ourselves and those around us. The story lingers in the mind long after the final page is turned – a must-read for anyone seeking a thought-provoking and immersive literary journey. David Scott Hay has undoubtedly solidified his place as one of the most talented and visionary authors of our time.
What is the point of making art? This is the central, though by no means only, question at the heart of David Scott Hay’s debut novel The Fountain, a satiric tour de force that, in a just world, would already be canonized alongside Ruben Östlund’s The Square as a masterpiece that decries the existence of canon or masterpieces. Chronicling the lives of a group of artists and art-world gadflies who come into contact with an enchanted water fountain (on the third floor of the MCA Chicago, lmao) that imbues its drinkers with the immediate capacity to create a single, undeniable, and perdurable work of creative genius in exchange for a (highly likely) early death, The Fountain plays like a three-ring Faustian fable of every artist’s journey, racing toward the mirage of success against the clock of an ignominious, anonymous demise. Exploring themes of art vs. content, scarcity vs. commodification, and of course, the oldest artistic bugaboo of them all, authenticity vs. selling out, Hay’s novel – which turned twelve years old this month – is the rare, visionary work that has only grown more relevant (and hilarious) as it’s seen its manifold prophecies fulfilled.
Look around the global media landscape today, and The Fountain has something to say about everything from IP glut and toxic fandom to branded activism and cancel culture to DALL-E and ChatGPT (which, btw, wrote the first paragraph of this review, and is currently at the center of a nationwide writer’s strike). The possibility that we may someday no longer need artists to create our entertainment, in any medium at any intellectual level, is a frightening and depressing one. It's honestly been bumming me out a lot lately, and quantifying the counterargument is a slipperier task than it might seem, but Hay attacks it like a bulldog with both nothing and everything to lose. The Fountain is swimming around in some deep philosophical waters (which eventually flood the museum), and by placing his smorgasbord of art world oddballs at the kind of crossroads most artists only ever have to consider in the abstract – the kind it’s easy to talk a big game about until someone offers you everything you’ve ever wanted on a silver platter plus streaming rights and a Pushcart Prize – Hay forces us to consider our own ethics and motives more closely.
Is the ultimate goal interpersonal connection? Personal expression? Enlightenment? Pride? Fame? Money? The respect of one’s peers? A lasting legacy? Should there even be an ultimate goal? Or is art inherently, necessarily, about the journey alone? With any such accrued accolades merely the fortunate byproducts of a wholly separate and hermetically individual process? Is it inauthentic to take shortcuts? To play to trends? To accept help or bend to criticism? Is making art inspired by a magical fountain any different than making art, say, while drunk, or on psychedelic drugs (or using AI)? Is authenticity even a thing, or is it simply another selling point? Codified by agents and appraisers and hucksters who manipulate artistry for personal gain? Is it even possible to be inauthentic, if we can only ever truly know ourselves? Do we all have to be penniless and suicidal for our work to count? Maybe my authentic self is an insincere sellout? How can I really know until someone offers me the chance?
Growing up in the grunge era, the concept of authenticity has taken up a great deal of real estate in my artistic life of the mind (as it clearly has Hay’s too). I consume an inordinate amount of media, at least in part, out of a back-burner obsession with maintaining some level of awareness as to what’s already been said; what's already been done. In an age where everything is described via its influences and recommended by algorithms based on other things we already know and like, I still feel a genuine, deep-seated desire to create something 100% new, practical or not as that desire may be (probably not). I’ll divulge here, Hay is a friend, and even reading The Fountain well after the fact, I was lowkey bummed to notice certain ideas, creative formatting choices, and even an impact phrase or two, that bore an eerie resemblance to things I wrote in my debut novel Troll some 12 years later. And even though my rational, adult mind can look at those stylistic coincidences and think “hey, you found a kindred spirit at your same small press. How cool is that?” the self-serious, authenticity-worshipping, emotionally-still-sixteen-and-pissed-at-the-world part of my brain definitely registers a petty pang of self-loathing that anyone anywhere has ever had the same unique and brilliant thoughts as me. I think Hay probably gets that too. That’s why he’s the best.
And that, in the end, is maybe The Fountain’s biggest takeaway of all. That it’s all been done before, in some way or another, many, many times over. And will be again. And again. And infinitely more times, at every intellectual level across every medium, including several that haven’t even been invented yet. It will be done artistically. It will be done commercially. It will be done authentically. And it will be done as a craven cash grab. And probably soon it will also be done by robots. And if you take a really macro view, eventually the Earth will crash into the sun and no art will actually matter anymore, and no one will have left a truly lasting legacy because nothing truly lasts. So maybe all we can do is what makes sense to us, as best we can, with our infinitesimal speck of allotted time, and the most any of us can hope for is that someone else miraculously happens by and agrees and maybe gives us a hug. Because trying to create anything worthwhile in this world can make a person a little bit crazy. Because there is no magic fountain, and anybody looking for one will never really get what they want, even if they do. And because even with AI nipping at our heels, if the first paragraph of this review is any indication, we’re still a long way off from artificial authenticity.
What is the point of making art? This is the central, though by no means only, question at the heart of David Scott Hay’s debut novel The Fountain, a satiric tour de force that, in a just world, would already be canonized alongside Ruben Östlund’s The Square as a masterpiece that decries the existence of canon or masterpieces. Chronicling the lives of a group of artists and art-world gadflies who come into contact with an enchanted water fountain (on the third floor of the MCA Chicago, lmao) that imbues its drinkers with the immediate capacity to create a single, undeniable, and perdurable work of creative genius in exchange for a (highly likely) early death, The Fountain plays like a three-ring Faustian fable of every artist’s journey, racing toward the mirage of success against the clock of an ignominious, anonymous demise. Exploring themes of art vs. content, scarcity vs. commodification, and of course, the oldest artistic bugaboo of them all, authenticity vs. selling out, Hay’s novel – which turned twelve years old this month – is the rare, visionary work that has only grown more relevant (and hilarious) as it’s seen its manifold prophecies fulfilled.
Look around the global media landscape today, and The Fountain has something to say about everything from IP glut and toxic fandom to branded activism and cancel culture to DALL-E and ChatGPT (which, btw, wrote the first paragraph of this review, and is currently at the center of a nationwide writer’s strike). The possibility that we may someday no longer need artists to create our entertainment, in any medium at any intellectual level, is a frightening and depressing one. It's honestly been bumming me out a lot lately, and quantifying the counterargument is a slipperier task than it might seem, but Hay attacks it like a bulldog with both nothing and everything to lose. The Fountain is swimming around in some deep philosophical waters (which eventually flood the museum), and by placing his smorgasbord of art world oddballs at the kind of crossroads most artists only ever have to consider in the abstract – the kind it’s easy to talk a big game about until someone offers you everything you’ve ever wanted on a silver platter plus streaming rights and a Pushcart Prize – Hay forces us to consider our own ethics and motives more closely.
Is the ultimate goal interpersonal connection? Personal expression? Enlightenment? Pride? Fame? Money? The respect of one’s peers? A lasting legacy? Should there even be an ultimate goal? Or is art inherently, necessarily, about the journey alone? With any such accrued accolades merely the fortunate byproducts of a wholly separate and hermetically individual process? Is it inauthentic to take shortcuts? To play to trends? To accept help or bend to criticism? Is making art inspired by a magical fountain any different than making art, say, while drunk, or on psychedelic drugs (or using AI)? Is authenticity even a thing, or is it simply another selling point? Codified by agents and appraisers and hucksters who manipulate artistry for personal gain? Is it even possible to be inauthentic, if we can only ever truly know ourselves? Do we all have to be penniless and suicidal for our work to count? Maybe my authentic self is an insincere sellout? How can I really know until someone offers me the chance?
Growing up in the grunge era, the concept of authenticity has taken up a great deal of real estate in my artistic life of the mind (as it clearly has Hay’s too). I consume an inordinate amount of media, at least in part, out of a back-burner obsession with maintaining some level of awareness as to what’s already been said; what's already been done. In an age where everything is described via its influences and recommended by algorithms based on other things we already know and like, I still feel a genuine, deep-seated desire to create something 100% new, practical or not as that desire may be (probably not). I’ll divulge here, Hay is a friend, and even reading The Fountain well after the fact, I was lowkey bummed to notice certain ideas, creative formatting choices, and even an impact phrase or two, that bore an eerie resemblance to things I wrote in my debut novel Troll some 12 years later. And even though my rational, adult mind can look at those stylistic coincidences and think “hey, you found a kindred spirit at your same small press. How cool is that?” the self-serious, authenticity-worshipping, emotionally-still-sixteen-and-pissed-at-the-world part of my brain definitely registers a petty pang of self-loathing that anyone anywhere has ever had the same unique and brilliant thoughts as me. I think Hay probably gets that too. That’s why he’s the best.
And that, in the end, is maybe The Fountain’s biggest takeaway of all. That it’s all been done before, in some way or another, many, many times over. And will be again. And again. And infinitely more times, at every intellectual level across every medium, including several that haven’t even been invented yet. It will be done artistically. It will be done commercially. It will be done authentically. And it will be done as a craven cash grab. And probably soon it will also be done by robots. And if you take a really macro view, eventually the Earth will crash into the sun and no art will actually matter anymore, and no one will have left a truly lasting legacy because nothing truly lasts. So maybe all we can do is what makes sense to us, as best we can, with our infinitesimal speck of allotted time, and the most any of us can hope for is that someone else miraculously happens by and agrees and maybe gives us a hug. Because trying to create anything worthwhile in this world can make a person a little bit crazy. Because there is no magic fountain, and anybody looking for one will never really get what they want, even if they do. And because even with AI nipping at our heels, if the first paragraph of this review is any indication, we’re still a long way off from artificial authenticity.
June 10, 2024
Якби я не намагалася уникати сатиричних книг вони все одно звідкись беруться. Цей випадок про артсвіт з його чудасіями. Книга достатньо безумна, але відчувається що автор в темі (google). Уявіть що б сталося в світі якби кожен міг би створити один шедевр, але потім померти? Дивні гротескні герої, зациклені на своїх карьєрах, критика капіталізму і суспільства споживання, гра з четвертою стіною, бла-бла-бла, а взагалі я інколи реготала. Але книга зайде не тільки лише усім.
October 24, 2011
Fountain, by David Scott Hay, had me feeling like I was a fly on the wall, or perhaps a mist surrounding the characters in this novel. Dropped headlong into the world of art, I found myself really caring, really intrigued by the characters' thoughts, motivations, and struggles, both internal and external. I wanted to shout encouragement, to give them hope, but found myself, instead, holding my breath, not wanting to disrupt the flow of their chosen path. The dialogue is quick, witty, and thought-provoking. Such a different type of book that I typically read, but I'm glad I picked it up. Definitely a keeper on my Kindle!
March 19, 2024
Wow. I genuinely don't think I have the words for this book.
October 23, 2024
In this speculative fiction novel by David Scott Hay, readers enter the world of visual creatives - sculptors, painters, multi-media creators, and those both desperate to find a place within this world, and those unexpectedly thrust into its spotlight. When a fountain in Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago grants its drinkers one perfect masterpiece with a very high personal price tag, the question becomes, what is a masterpiece worth? Do we chase the dream of perfection? Do we chase it once we discover its real costs (quite high, my friend)? Or do we accept the art we have made, the art we can make, and the possibility that we are, after all, mediocre like everyone else. With a rotating narrative perspective, Hay takes us deeply into the lived experience of those on the inside of this elite art world, the has-beens and the could-have beens, as well as artists who have achieved fame on the level of a Bob Ross but with nefarious origins; and finally, the art critic desperate to exchange his place on the outside of the fishbowl for one inside. The writing is crisp and ecstatic and audaciously self-aware. Though the novel focuses on the visual arts scene, it is a work to benefit all creatives. It will make you think, maybe dream, and - hopefully - return with two beautiful feet planted firmly back on Earth.
November 20, 2011
Chose the book because it's about art and artworld of sorts....had a very high rating. I trudged through and trudged through....after two thirds of the book I decided "I do not have to spend my time reading what i dont like"
October 15, 2022
A mix of witty, fast-paced, shrewd, and fun, The Fountain was a novel like no other.
From the start, I appreciated the title. Not sure if it was an allusion to Duchamp’s Dadaist masterpiece, but it would be quite fitting if it were so.
The major theme in the book focuses on a specific fountain set in Chicago’s MCA. Purportedly, if one drank from the fountain, they would be able to create a masterpiece of art, with the unfortunate consequence of dying in the near future (cause of death would differ from person to person)
1. Humor: The humor in this book is incredible. It may not be for everyone, but I actually laughed out loud at a few of the passages and found myself grinning at some of the absurdity and references.
2. NSFW: Lots of sex scenes, but I will say that these scenes were artfully crafted. Compared to the mushy lovemaking in romance novels, Hays delivers some of the most beautiful writing about what it’s like to have sex, especially the scene between Hector and Emma and the “baptism of now”. Oh, boy. That passage is true magnificence. Not to mention the orgasms due to a chair. Enough said.
3. Meticulously crafted: From the amazing footnotes and the set of screen colors fading to black to a fake Wikipedia page about the “Fountain period” that was added to the pages of the book (it looked so real that I looked it up online to see if it was actually a page), Hays goes above and beyond in creating quite an entertaining story that I didn’t expect. He does a great job connecting all the characters together and finding ways for them to interact. Personally, I love the satirization on the art world and how certain characters have real-world counterparts, such as Ross Robards as Bob Ross.
4. Plot-less: I’ve been trying to think of the best word to describe the plot, and I believe plot-less could fit just right. There is a plot. Definitely a fun, goofy, yet somewhat sinister plot, but I appreciate the way the book kind of spirals in on itself, just like the world around them.
5. Immaculate diction: Hays’s prose is benign. What I mean to say is that he finds a way to really select the best words to bring out each of his characters’ personalities and their interactions with the world. It was such a joy to read his work.
Personally, I found that Duckworth was the most interesting character and truly the one I related to the most. Who doesn’t yearn to create an art piece without putting in all the time and dedication, especially when one lacks the skill? For one to want it to come naturally yet never have the chance to start on their dreams. It was jarringly too real.
From the start, I appreciated the title. Not sure if it was an allusion to Duchamp’s Dadaist masterpiece, but it would be quite fitting if it were so.
The major theme in the book focuses on a specific fountain set in Chicago’s MCA. Purportedly, if one drank from the fountain, they would be able to create a masterpiece of art, with the unfortunate consequence of dying in the near future (cause of death would differ from person to person)
1. Humor: The humor in this book is incredible. It may not be for everyone, but I actually laughed out loud at a few of the passages and found myself grinning at some of the absurdity and references.
2. NSFW: Lots of sex scenes, but I will say that these scenes were artfully crafted. Compared to the mushy lovemaking in romance novels, Hays delivers some of the most beautiful writing about what it’s like to have sex, especially the scene between Hector and Emma and the “baptism of now”. Oh, boy. That passage is true magnificence. Not to mention the orgasms due to a chair. Enough said.
3. Meticulously crafted: From the amazing footnotes and the set of screen colors fading to black to a fake Wikipedia page about the “Fountain period” that was added to the pages of the book (it looked so real that I looked it up online to see if it was actually a page), Hays goes above and beyond in creating quite an entertaining story that I didn’t expect. He does a great job connecting all the characters together and finding ways for them to interact. Personally, I love the satirization on the art world and how certain characters have real-world counterparts, such as Ross Robards as Bob Ross.
4. Plot-less: I’ve been trying to think of the best word to describe the plot, and I believe plot-less could fit just right. There is a plot. Definitely a fun, goofy, yet somewhat sinister plot, but I appreciate the way the book kind of spirals in on itself, just like the world around them.
5. Immaculate diction: Hays’s prose is benign. What I mean to say is that he finds a way to really select the best words to bring out each of his characters’ personalities and their interactions with the world. It was such a joy to read his work.
Personally, I found that Duckworth was the most interesting character and truly the one I related to the most. Who doesn’t yearn to create an art piece without putting in all the time and dedication, especially when one lacks the skill? For one to want it to come naturally yet never have the chance to start on their dreams. It was jarringly too real.
May 1, 2023
This book reads the way you want a book to read: snappy, smart, sexy, imbued with the character quirks - stylistically and thematically - of the writer himself.
With "The Fountain," David is having a playful but not unscathing conversation with himself about what Art with a capital "A" is. What it means. Who can do it. Where it comes from. And barbeque sauce.
He has this convo by way of the varying voices he puts in the lungs of his characters; from pretentious critics to sellout hasbeens to workhorse underground craftsmen and students alike. (There's also an oversexed grade school teacher who eats butterflies and a talking squirrel that dishes out some harsh truths, but you'll have to read the thing to find out what the heck that's all about)
It's an honest book that has something to say about a familiar topic in wildly entertaining and frequently-jarring ways. Imagine Chuck Palahniuk and Jennifer Egan having a drunk and stoned and chinese-takeout-fueled conversation about the world of High Art and that's pretty much the experience, but through the punchy lens of a rockabilly boxer/playwright/author/filmmaker.
Artists, moonlighting craftspeople, and fans of sharp humor will all find something to love in this paperback.
With "The Fountain," David is having a playful but not unscathing conversation with himself about what Art with a capital "A" is. What it means. Who can do it. Where it comes from. And barbeque sauce.
He has this convo by way of the varying voices he puts in the lungs of his characters; from pretentious critics to sellout hasbeens to workhorse underground craftsmen and students alike. (There's also an oversexed grade school teacher who eats butterflies and a talking squirrel that dishes out some harsh truths, but you'll have to read the thing to find out what the heck that's all about)
It's an honest book that has something to say about a familiar topic in wildly entertaining and frequently-jarring ways. Imagine Chuck Palahniuk and Jennifer Egan having a drunk and stoned and chinese-takeout-fueled conversation about the world of High Art and that's pretty much the experience, but through the punchy lens of a rockabilly boxer/playwright/author/filmmaker.
Artists, moonlighting craftspeople, and fans of sharp humor will all find something to love in this paperback.
July 26, 2021
Smart, sharp, scathing. David Scott Hay combines black humor, compelling characters, and wacky antics to create brilliant and brutal critique of the machinations fueling the art world. No one holds the moral high ground, and the reader can't quite discern if there is even a traditional protagonist amidst all the sniping, backbiting, and vitriol.
No one escapes Hay's withering gaze, neither creators nor critics, museums nor foundations. What makes this even more delicious for me is that the questions asked about authenticity and the creative spark can be applied to any facet of creativity, especially musicians and writers. Calling to mind Kurt Vonnegut's sarcastic wisdom, Tom Robbin's ribald sexuality, and Christopher Moore's cracked sense of humor, this book is an absolute romp.
No one escapes Hay's withering gaze, neither creators nor critics, museums nor foundations. What makes this even more delicious for me is that the questions asked about authenticity and the creative spark can be applied to any facet of creativity, especially musicians and writers. Calling to mind Kurt Vonnegut's sarcastic wisdom, Tom Robbin's ribald sexuality, and Christopher Moore's cracked sense of humor, this book is an absolute romp.
August 7, 2024
The Fountain is a vivid trip through the Chicago art world, populated by a cast of confused yet passionate and sympathetic characters seeking fulfillment through creativity. David Scott Hay has written one of the best novels about the contemporary art world and its denizens that I have come across in years. It will make you laugh as much as it makes you think.
January 28, 2024
Wild, hilarious, gonzo, filthy, subversive fun.
May 21, 2025
terrible
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews