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Ralph Ellison

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Invisible Man Kindle Edition

by Ralph Ellison (Author) Format: Kindle Edition

4.5 8,073 ratings

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First published in 1952 and immediately hailed as a masterpiece, Invisible Man is one of those rare novels that have changed the shape of American literature. For not only does Ralph Ellison's nightmare journey across the racial divide tell unparalleled truths about the nature of bigotry and its effects on the minds of both victims and perpetrators, it gives us an entirely new model of what a novel can be.

As he journeys from the Deep South to the streets and basements of Harlem, from a horrifying "battle royal" where black men are reduced to fighting animals, to a Communist rally where they are elevated to the status of trophies, Ralph Ellison's nameless protagonist ushers readers into a parallel universe that throws our own into harsh and even hilarious relief. Suspenseful and sardonic, narrated in a voice that takes in the symphonic range of the American language, black and white, Invisible Man is one of the most audacious and dazzling novels of our century.

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"A book of the very first order, a superb book."—Saul Bellow

From the Inside Flap

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.

From the Back Cover

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.

About the Author

Ralph Ellison was born in Okalahoma and trained as a musician at Tuskegee Institute from 1933 to 1936, at which time a visit to New York and a meeting with Richard Wright led to his first attempts at fiction. Invisible Man won the National Book Award and the Russwurm Award. Appointed to the Academy of American Arts and Letters in 1964, Ellison taught at many colleges including Bard College, the University of Chicago, and New York University where he was Albert Schweitzer Professor of Humanities from 1970 through 1980. Ralph Ellison died in 1994.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter One

It goes a long way back, some twenty years. All my life I had been looking for something, and everywhere I turned someone tried to tell me what it was. I accepted their answers too, though they were often in contradiction and even self-contradictory. I was na?ve. I was looking for myself and asking everyone except myself questions which I, and only I, could answer. It took me a long time and much painful boomeranging of my expectations to achieve a realization everyone else appears to have been born with: That I am nobody but myself. But first I had to discover that I am an invisible man!

And yet I am no freak of nature, nor of history. I was in the cards, other things having been equal (or unequal) eighty-five years ago. I am not ashamed of my grandparents for having been slaves. I am only ashamed of myself for having at one time been ashamed. About eighty-five years ago they were told that they were free, united with others of our country in everything pertaining to the common good, and, in everything social, separate like the fingers of the hand. And they believed it. They exulted in it. They stayed in their place, worked hard, and brought up my father to do the same. But my grandfather is the one. He was an odd old guy, my grandfather, and I am told I take after him. It was he who caused the trouble. On his deathbed he called my father to him and said, "Son, after I'm gone I want you to keep up the good fight. I never told you, but our life is a war and I have been a traitor all my born days, a spy in the enemy's country ever since I give up my gun back in the Reconstruction. Live with your head in the lion's mouth. I want you to overcome 'em with yeses, undermine 'em with grins, agree 'em to death and destruction, let 'em swoller you till they vomit or bust wide open." They thought the old man had gone out of his mind. He had been the meekest of men. The younger children were rushed from the room, the shades drawn and the flame of the lamp turned so low that it sputtered on the wick like the old man's breathing. "Learn it to the younguns," he whispered fiercely; then he died.

But my folks were more alarmed over his last words than over his dying. It was as though he had not died at all, his words caused so much anxiety. I was warned emphatically to forget what he had said and, indeed, this is the first time it has been mentioned outside the family circle. It had a tremendous effect upon me, however. I could never be sure of what he meant. Grandfather had been a quiet old man who never made any trouble, yet on his deathbed he had called himself a traitor and a spy, and he had spoken of his meekness as a dangerous activity. It became a constant puzzle which lay unanswered in the back of my mind. And whenever things went well for me I remembered my grandfather and felt guilty and uncomfortable. It was as though I was carrying out his advice in spite of myself. And to make it worse, everyone loved me for it. I was praised by the most lily-white men of the town. I was considered an example of desirable conduct-just as my grandfather had been. And what puzzled me was that the old man had defined it as treachery. When I was praised for my conduct I felt a guilt that in some way I was doing something that was really against the wishes of the white folks, that if they had understood they would have desired me to act just the opposite, that I should have been sulky and mean, and that that really would have been what they wanted, even though they were fooled and thought they wanted me to act as I did. It made me afraid that some day they would look upon me as a traitor and I would be lost. Still I was more afraid to act any other way because they didn't like that at all. The old man's words were like a curse. On my graduation day I delivered an oration in which I showed that humility was the secret, indeed, the very essence of progress. (Not that I believed this-how could I, remembering my grandfather?-I only believed that it worked.) It was a great success. Everyone praised me and I was invited to give the speech at a gathering of the town's leading white citizens. It was a triumph for our whole community.

It was in the main ballroom of the leading hotel. When I got there I discovered that it was on the occasion of a smoker, and I was told that since I was to be there anyway I might as well take part in the battle royal to be fought by some of my schoolmates as part of the entertainment. The battle royal came first.

All of the town's big shots were there in their tuxedoes, wolfing down the buffet foods, drinking beer and whiskey and smoking black cigars. It was a large room with a high ceiling. Chairs were arranged in neat rows around three sides of a portable boxing ring. The fourth side was clear, revealing a gleaming space of polished floor. I had some misgivings over the battle royal, by the way. Not from a distaste for fighting, but because I didn't care too much for the other fellows who were to take part. They were tough guys who seemed to have no grandfather's curse worrying their minds. No one could mistake their toughness. And besides, I suspected that fighting a battle royal might detract from the dignity of my speech. In those pre-invisible days I visualized myself as a potential Booker T. Washington. But the other fellows didn't care too much for me either, and there were nine of them. I felt superior to them in my way, and I didn't like the manner in which we were all crowded together into the servants' elevator. Nor did they like my being there. In fact, as the warmly lighted floors flashed past the elevator we had words over the fact that I, by taking part in the fight, had knocked one of their friends out of a night's work.

We were led out of the elevator through a rococo hall into an anteroom and told to get Into our fighting togs. Each of us was issued a pair of boxing gloves and ushered out into the big mirrored hall, which we entered looking cautiously about us and whispering, lest we might accidentally be heard above the noise of the room. It was foggy with cigar smoke. And already the whiskey was taking effect. I was shocked to see some of the most important men of the town quite tipsy. They were all there-bankers, lawyers, judges, doctors, fire chiefs, teachers, merchants. Even one of the more fashionable pastors. Something we could not see was going on up front. A clarinet was vibrating sensuously and the men were standing up and moving eagerly forward. We were a small tight group, clustered together, our bare upper bodies touching and shining with anticipatory sweat; while up front the big shots were becoming increasingly excited over something we still could not see. Suddenly I heard the school superintendent, who had told me to come, yell, "Bring up the shines, gentlemen! Bring up the little shines!"

We were rushed up to the front of the ballroom, where it smelled even more strongly of tobacco and whiskey. Then we were pushed into place. I almost wet my pants. A sea of faces, some hostile, some amused, ringed around us, and in the center, facing us, stood a magnificent blonde-stark naked. There was dead silence. I felt a blast of cold air chill me. I tried to back away, but they were behind me and around me. Some of the boys stood with lowered heads, trembling. I felt a wave of irrational guilt and fear. My teeth chattered, my skin turned to goose flesh, my knees knocked. Yet I was strongly attracted and looked in spite of myself. Had the price of looking been blindness, I would have looked. The hair was yellow like that of a circus kewpie doll, the face heavily powdered and rouged, as though to form an abstract mask, the eyes hollow and smeared a cool blue, the color of a baboon's butt. I felt a desire to spit upon her as my eyes brushed slowly over her body. Her breasts were firm and round as the domes of East Indian temples, and I stood so close as to see the fine skin texture and beads of pearly perspiration glistening like dew around the pink and erected buds of her nipples. I wanted at one and the same time to run from the room, to sink through the floor, or go to her and cover her from my eyes and the eyes of the others with my body; to feel the soft thighs, to caress her and destroy her, to love her and murder her, to hide from her, and yet to stroke where below the small American flag tattooed upon her belly her thighs formed a capital V I had a notion that of all in the room she saw only me with her impersonal eyes.

And then she began to dance, a slow sensuous movement; the smoke of a hundred cigars clinging to her like the thinnest of veils. She seemed like a fair bird-girl girdled in veils calling to me from the angry surface of some gray and threatening sea. I was transported. Then I became aware of the clarinet playing and the big shots yelling at us. Some threatened us if we looked and others if we did not. On my right I saw one boy faint. And now a man grabbed a silver pitcher from a table and stepped close as he dashed ice water upon him and stood him up and forced two of us to support him as his head hung and moans issued from his thick bluish lips. Another boy began to plead to go home. He was the largest of the group, wearing dark red fighting trunks much too small to conceal the erection which projected from him as though in answer to the insinuating low-registered moaning of the clarinet. He tried to hide himself with his boxing gloves.

And all the while the blonde continued dancing, smiling faintly at the big shots who watched her with fascination, and faintly smiling at our fear. I noticed a certain merchant who followed her hungrily, his lips loose and drooling. He was a large man who wore diamond studs in a shirtfront which swelled with the ample paunch underneath, and each time the blonde swayed her undulating hips he ran his hand through the thin hair of his bald head and, with his arms upheld, his posture clumsy like that of an intoxicated panda, wound his belly in a slow and obscene grind. This creature was completely hypnotized. The music had quickened. As the dancer flung herself about w...

Product details

ASIN ‏ : ‎ B07XCWSVLX
Publisher ‏ : ‎ (September 2, 2019)
Publication date ‏ : ‎ September 2, 2019
Language ‏ : ‎ English
File size ‏ : ‎ 818 KB
Text-to-Speech ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Screen Reader ‏ : ‎ Supported
Enhanced typesetting ‏ : ‎ Enabled
X-Ray ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Word Wise ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Sticky notes ‏ : ‎ On Kindle Scribe
Print length ‏ : ‎ 610 pages
Page numbers source ISBN ‏ : ‎ 0679732764

Best Sellers Rank: #32,947 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #134 in Technothrillers (Kindle Store)
- #178 in Technothrillers (Books)
- #1,784 in Science Fiction (Kindle Store)

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Ralph Ellison

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Ralph Ellison (1914-94) was born in Oklahoma and trained as a musician at Tuskegee Institute from 1933 to 1936, at which time a visit to New York and a meeting with Richard Wright led to his first attempts at fiction. Invisible Man won the National Book Award. Appointed to the Academy of American Arts and Letters in 1964, Ellison taught at several institutions, including Bard College, the University of Chicago, and New York University, where he was Albert Schweitzer Professor of Humanities.

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Mikey_and_Jenn02

A MUST READ

Reviewed in the United States on September 27, 2017

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With my being so finicky about the books I choose to read, I have relatively high expectations for what lies within each one. I've seen this book for awhile now, and on many recommended reads within Black Literature. With such a vague cover and an even more ambiguous title, I found myself constantly overlooking it without realizing that I had seen this book right in front of me time and time again, as I searched for my next enlightening piece of history. I realize now with the book being so inconspicuous, that the title itself is actually quite fitting.

Prior to reading Invisible Man, I hadn't heard much about it. No recommendations or opinions from others. So there was no way for me to foresee the impact the story would have on me. No way to envisage how eventful and substantial this book would be. No way to anticipate the perspective given to me, from the author, of this black man in America. No way for me to expect the change made to MY perspective as a Black American. After experiencing this painful truth, there was no way I could have conceived that the very people in my life may be "Invisible," and that I myself am invisible as well.

The protagonist did not expect to experience the harsh realities of his existence. More specifically, to experience a journey that he had not planned for, but had plans for him; to meet with a number of individuals that would alter his perspective on being black in a white country; not expecting to ultimately realize that he never accurately knew himself in the first place. The Invisible Man struggles to live in a world where people choose to see him as THEY want to see him, and not for who he truly is. I felt deeply connected with both the mental plight of the protagonist, and his lonesome walk of life.

Author Ralph Ellison paints the most vivid picture of an incredible story. With it's outstanding descriptiveness, and incredible symbolism, this book is nothing short of a masterpiece. While it may be tough to grasp all of it's messages and comprehend each metaphor in one read, it's a page turning experience that unforgivably takes a hold of your emotions without ever letting go. This book is an essential read for a number of reasons, however, two of them strike me as the most palpable. The first being its accurate portrayal of racism in America. Ellison takes us inside the mind of the protagonist as he experiences and discovers hateful discrimination in many forms. As well as many perspectives on racism though multiple characters in the book. And second, though it goes without saying how well written and beautiful the novel is, I was astounded by the overall genius of Ellison's vision. With how meticulous and well crafted this work of art is, it came as no surprise when I learned that it took Ellison roughly seven years to complete this book. The ideas presented in this book, though written nearly 70 years ago, still resonate deeply in today's society. I consider myself fortunate to have graced its pages. Easily a 5 star book, and one of the best books I've ever read.

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mulcahey

genius and fearlessness

Reviewed in the United States on November 17, 2023

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At some point in your education, you come across or cobble together a list of Great Books, titles that you're given to understand are long, ponderous, hard to read, but vaguely essential for the would-be civilized mind. If and when you brave any of the titles on that list, you find that MOBY DICK isn't about a nautical peg-leg, THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV isn't about brotherhood, THE HOUSE OF MIRTH is not a comedy — that in fact none of the Great Books is what you imagined, except in sheer greatness.

INVISIBLE MAN is one of those books. You don't know what you are in for.

The prose may be occasionally clumsy, the forays into dialect may feel dated, but no flaw you find can detract from the sublimity and power of what Ellison has to tell us, not only about the horror and tragedy of being Black in America, but too about the mortal impossibility of being human in this world we humans have made.

INVISIBLE MAN feels it could have been dictated from the burning bush on Mount Horeb, so truthful, fearless and complete is what it achieves. It changed me. It will change you.

11 people found this helpful

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Karl Janssen

Tragicomedy of race and class in America

Reviewed in the United States on October 14, 2020

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Any discussion of the most important works in African American literature is sure to include Ralph Ellison’s novel Invisible Man, first published in 1952. The novel depicts and comments upon the racial and social climate of its era, including the black nationalist movement, the American Communist party, and social conditions in the American South. This groundbreaking work of modern literature, however, goes beyond social realism to address more existential issues of black identity. While it often deals with heavy themes, Ellison eloquently mixes tragedy and humor to deliver an engaging and thought-provoking read.

The story is told by an unnamed narrator who grew up in a small town in the American South. He wins a school contest in speech-making, for which he earns a scholarship to a black college. Before he can collect his prize, however, he must first undergo a harrowing and brutal racist hazing ritual for the amusement of the town’s leading white men. As a college student, he is assigned to act as chauffeur and guide to one of the school’s wealthy white donors. When, at the donor’s request, he ushers the white man to some unseemly sites that display the harsher realities of black life in the town, he draws the ire of the college’s president, who expels him from the school. He then heads to New York, where he is recruited by a socialist group called the Brotherhood that ostensibly advocates reforms for the poor and working classes of all races. Due to his prowess as a public speaker, the narrator is assigned to be the Brotherhood’s spokesman in Harlem.

At least half of the novel is devoted to the protagonist’s career with the Brotherhood, which is easily the narrative’s biggest fault. Way too much time is spent on the internal politics and behind-the-scenes strategies of this organization. The reader sits through a series of protracted dialogues in which members of the group’s hierarchy accost each other in accusatory tones without ever really saying what they mean. In the end this yields some interesting conclusions, but Ellison sure takes a long and circuitous route in getting there. Just as in John Steinbeck’s In Dubious Battle, a novel about labor organizers among oppressed white farm workers, focusing so much on the supposed reformers often leaves the reader feeling one step removed from the problems they’re trying to reform. In both cases, the author is critical of these purported saviors and exposes the self-interested exploitation behind their agendas. Ellison’s criticisms of the Communists and their treatment of black Americans may be valid, but the 21st century reader finds himself wishing more time had been spent focusing on the realities of black life in Harlem. The beginning and end of the novel—the narrator’s life in the South, his time at college, the frenzied climax, and the thoughtful epilogue—are superior to what’s in between.

Those who prefer a more traditionally naturalistic social realism will find that Ellison ventures a little too much into a verbose, Faulknerian stream-of-conscious style that obscures his arguments more than it elucidates them. Thankfully, only portions of the novel are written in this manner. Despite my few reservations, Invisible Man is still a great novel and an enlightening read. Though published almost seven decades ago, many of the issues Ellison raises have proven regrettably timeless, thus Invisible Man still retains its relevance. For those receptive to what it has to say, this book still has the power to change one’s views on race in America.

15 people found this helpful

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Vivian

LOVE!

Reviewed in the United States on February 29, 2024

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Love this book and Ralph Ellison! Written and executed so beautifully and perfectly. Wonderful work of art, creative and relatable!

4 people found this helpful

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Lawrence Bell Sr

Still Appropriate for American Values!

Reviewed in the United States on May 2, 2024

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I read this book 55 years ago and it is still overtly true of the condition of America’s Heart! Very little (comparatively) has actually changed. The schools and neighborhoods are as segregated as they were in 1950. “Critical Race Theory” is another way of phrasing “Finally Telling the Truth!”

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Sumanto

A classic of American literature

Reviewed in India on February 13, 2024

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While it is about the African American experience in mid-20th century America, it is relatable to anyone anywhere who's ever felt invisible. And the jazz-like rhythm of the prose is a treat!

Covadonga Martinez

Invisible Man: Ralph Ellison (Penguin Essentials)

Reviewed in Spain on July 20, 2021

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En este formato, la letra es muy pequeña.

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Veronica

Spedizione lunga, libro evidenziato ma corretti nella descrizione del prodotto

Reviewed in Italy on May 24, 2021

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Ho comprato Invisible Man usato, nella descrizione era scritto che potevano esserci sottolineature. Speravo che fossero a matita e invece sono con un pennarello, ma la descrizione era corretta e quindi non posso lamentarmi. I tempi di spedizione sono stati lunghi, hanno previsto un mese di tempo per recapitarmelo a casa ed è arrivato esattamente l'ultimo giorno del mese che mi avevano detto. Non sono contentissima, ma non posso lamentarmi perché il venditore è stato corretto.

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bodomania

Parfait, merci!

Reviewed in France on November 5, 2020

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Livraison rapide et parfait état du livre.

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Tom Gray

Desperation as a tool for exploitation

Reviewed in Canada on July 16, 2018

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This novel is not the novel that I was expecting to read when I started it. it is a very powerful novel. The word "masterpiece" is too commonly applied to lesser works but for this novel it is entirely justified. the novel was was published originally in 1952. Some aspects of it are dated and would seem anachronistic if applied to today's society. But that is only superficial. it is a novel of direct application to today's society and the society of any era. Its description of demagoguery and other forms of control and exploitation are of direct application to today. The feeling of desperation that breeds the anger that causes suspicion, hate and for people to act in ways harmful to their own well-being is brought out and explored in this novel. Desperation created to be used as a tool for exploitation that is what is shown.

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