Invisible Man: A novel Overview

Invisible Man is a milestone in American literature, a book that has continued to engage readers since its appearance in 1952. A first novel by an unknown writer, it remained on the bestseller list for sixteen weeks, won the National Book Award for fiction, and established Ralph Ellison as one of the key writers of the century. The nameless narrator of the novel describes growing up in a black community in the South, attending a Negro college from which he is expelled, moving to New York and becoming the chief spokesman of the Harlem branch of “the Brotherhood”, and retreating amid violence and confusion to the basement lair of the Invisible Man he imagines himself to be. The book is a passionate and witty tour de force of style, strongly influenced by T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, Joyce, and Dostoevsky.

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Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man is many things, all of them great: one of the twentieth century’s best novels, a landmark identity exploration, one of the most brilliantly vivid dramatizations of existentialism and other Post-Modern intellectual concerns, one of the most relevant sociopolitical works since World War II, a revolutionary novel in structural terms that proved highly influential, and a milestone of African American art. It is essential for anyone even remotely interested in such things and, indeed, anyone even slightly concerned with twentieth century literature.

Invisible is often called a “black novel,” and while this sells it incredibly short, it has much to admire in this regard. The protagonist and most major characters are black, and the book gives a fascinating peak at mid-century African American culture, especially black intellectuals, political dissidents, early black power movements, and urban blacks. We get a good idea of such movements’ ins and outs as well as their members’ thoughts, speech, and behavior. The novel memorably deals with many themes of great importance to African Americans, from poverty to racism to identity issues. It is also steeped in black history. However, it is important to realize that Ellison did not set out to write a “black novel” in the sense of Richard Wright or James Baldwin. He was in fact disturbed by those pressing such strict sociopolitical readings, stressing that he wished Invisible could be seen “simply as a novel.” To be sure, it has much to say about African Americans and their status then and now and is at least as political in its way as anything overtly meant as such. However, it is extremely complex and ambiguous; critics and readers still debate just what Ellison meant more than half a century later. This was clearly intentional; nearly every aspect of the book has great sociopolitical relevance, but it never even comes close to didactic. Ellison dramatizes supremely meaningful themes and raises many profound questions but knows better than to give answers; that is up to us. As with Zora Neale Hurston, his refusal to take a definite stand on “black” issues did not sit well with the more forceful politically engaged black leaders, but this is to the book’s literary benefit. Released in 1952, it is an important link between Modernism and Post-Modernism; its relentless staging of profound philosophical issues with an existential awareness of the impossibility of definitive answers is distinctly Modern, while its political aspect is very Post-Modern. It walks a similar line between African American literature and general literature with the former’s trappings and the latter’s breadth. The bottomline is that it has the strengths of both and is great on both fronts.

Important as Invisible is to black concerns, it is also grandly universal – politically, philosophically, and otherwise. Above all, it is an eloquent illustration of the underdog in all facets – an extremely vivid account of what it is like to be an outcast in various societies. The Invisible Man symbolizes everyone who is downtrodden, whether from race, class, beliefs, or whatever else. It is thus a supremely searching and stirringly affecting portrait of modern alienation; whether in the rural South or Harlem, the Invisible Man is essentially down and out and in the most fundamental sense alone. There is a strong criminal, even revolutionary, element to his plight that shines a much-needed light on the vast dark side of a mid-century era that many think of as idyllic. A far cry from the official Leave It to Beaver world, it was a loud wake-up call to a complacent society and remains a vibrantly relevant paean to outcasts everywhere.

Many Post-Modern themes abound – paranoia, distrust of authority, etc. -, but identity crisis is preeminent. One of the most truly existential novels, Invisible focuses largely on the prime existential question – how to find oneself in a world where traditional authority, from government to religion, has become extinct. One can no longer rely on higher sources but must find the answer in one’s own heart and mind. Invisible is thus a bildungsroman on top of everything else – one’s man’s struggle to find the answer. Traditional fallbacks fail one after another, and he is left truly alone but not without a certain dignity and even a certain (very unconventional) strength. His fight for true independence has some success, and the self-awareness and clear-sightedness he gains is in many ways at least as valuable as the illusions he loses. Probably no one would want to be him, but all honest thinking people can see themselves in him – a disturbing thought reinforced in the unforgettable closing words. We certainly do not envy him, mainly because we can see ourselves becoming him so easily; he is an extreme version of the darkness that can befall an intelligent, capable person unable to fit into modern society. We identify with the darkness at his heart because we see it in ours – hopefully barely kindled but in danger of becoming a conflagration at any moment, just as his unexpectedly does when he seems on the very brink of success.

Important as the content is, the structure is also integral. The back of the book claims that Invisible gives “an entirely new model of what a novel can be,” which is not much of an exaggeration. Non-linear and distinctly anti-realist with a highly symbolic, often surreal plot, it again straddles Modernism and Post-Modernism. This is one of the main reasons that calling it a “black novel” is severely limiting. For one thing, it is highly allusive, referring to many works by non-blacks; Homer’s Odyssey is an important source, and Dostoevsky’s Notes from Underground and H. G. Wells’ Invisible Man are essential antecedents acknowledged by Ellison. Though not near-impenetrable as the likes of Joyce, Faulkner, and Pynchon are at their most abstruse, Invisible is challenging; the content was audacious and is still provocative, and the protagonist is not the usual sympathetic one, but the structure itself is demanding. One can read – and even enjoy – Invisible on a surface level, but those willing to dig deeper and truly engage themselves will get so much more out of it. We must make an effort to identify with the protagonist even when he seems most alien precisely because this is when he is really most familiar, and we must be alive to the frequent symbolism. Those willing to do so will be well rewarded; few novels are broader in scope or more complex in execution, not to mention more thematically meaningful and relevant. Invisible is a masterpiece on every level, making the fact that Ellison never finished a second novel a truly tragic loss to literature; it thankfully stands alone as a towering monument that will make him a literary immortal. It is a canon in itself, essential for anyone struggling with or curious about modernity’s unique problems.