I Am The Invisible Man

by Brendan Cavanagh

For AP English Senior Year, we were required to read six books over the summer, most of which we would wind up discussing later in the year in class. Naturally I read them all. And naturally, I was the only one to do so.














The second novel I read over the summer (and the first discussed in class, remember that Robert?) was Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man. No, not the guy who walks around bandaged all the time eating and drinking stuff so you can see it being digested in thin air, that's H.G. Wells territory. This is a novel about African-American identity in a white-dominated society. It's about this unnamed guy, Invisible Man, who hails from The South, where he kowtows like mad to his white "superiors" all the time, until he's exiled to Harlem, where he joins an underground Socialist Brotherhood that lifts the veil of ignorance and allows him to adequately witness the racial inequalities in society. It's a real page-turner in my opinion, taking on the epic narrative qualities of literature like The Odyssey.

There's one scene in there that really stuck out to me. Invisible Man ambles about Harlem's streets late one night, in the attempt of evading this black Nationalist, Ras the Exhorter, who wants to hunt him down for working with whites. After he buys a pair of sunglasses and a hip hat as a disguise, he's repeatedly mistaken by about a million strangers for some local fellow named Rinehart, who sold out to the whites by assuming multiple identities: a bookie, a reverend, a hipster, a lover, etc. You see, he's able to retain his own personal values within his heart, while merely conforming to society on the outside, on his rind. So anyway, Invisible Man's understanding of this turns out to play a key role in the book, leading to the riotous climax.

But I liked the idea of Invisible Man walking down the street wearing simply sunglasses and a hat, thereby effectively concealing his true identity from everyone. A lot of people just pass him by, which happens a lot in the book- like he's really invisible- and the ones who do happen to see him don't know who he really is, so it's like his real self is totally invisible to the world.

Shortly after completing Invisible Man, I took a train to Wisconsin in order to stay a few days in Milwaukee with my uncle and see Bob Dylan at Summerfest as well as enjoy a respite from the humdrum of daily life in Springfield. When the train got to Chicago's Union Station, there was a three hour layover between that train and the one I would board for Milwaukee. At first I simply explored the Union Station and made sure I knew where to go when the time came to board the next train (I wound up winging it later). But I eventually grew bored of living underground and decided to take my explorations upstairs and outside to the real world. I had never experienced the big city on my own, so I received an immense feeling of responsibility and exhilaration. I donned a pair of Ray Bans and with my bad slung across my shoulder, I delved into the hustle and bustle of Adams Street (incidentally perpendicular to Michigan Street, where Lollapalooza is located, guys).

It was incredible. I began to feel a bit like Invisible Man as I walked that never-ending street and the adjacent park for a couple hours, as I passed myriad Chicagoans and tourists alike, none of whom had a notion of who I was. Granted, I wasn't mistaken for another man, but the fact that no one knew my true identity as I pretended to knowledgeably navigate my way through farmers' markets, heavy traffic and homeless men was really exciting. I began to properly appreciate time spent alone, time spent observing others while situated within their group.

Of course, I don't often get the chance to go to the city or be invisible. But I try to incorporate that type of situation into my life in small ways here and there. For instance, most nights here at Butler University I like to escape the monotony of "school work" in my minuscule dorm room by stepping outside and going for a walk on the small sidewalk that runs along my residence hall. It's a quaint little pathway that, once it passes the residence hall, runs between the street and a narrow stretch of grass, complete with bushes and trees. I like walking along this sidewalk at dusk during these slightly summery Fall evenings, as the sun is in the closing stages of setting, and the cute little black streetlamps (a la Narnia) begin to stream faint, gold light in small circles on the path. It's really rather picturesque.

I almost always take this sidewalk a short ways away from the residence hall where I find this one particular tree- My Tree- that resides between two leafy bushes. On the sloping roots of this tree, I can clearly see the street and the houses across the street (641 standing out in the center), as well as anyone walking the sidewalk in my vicinity. What's funny, though, is that in this spot no one seems to pay attention to me, although I'm practically sitting right in the middle of the sidewalk. People, alone and in groups, walk or drive by me and act like I'm not watching their movements, as if I'm invisible. I test this hypothesis of mine by never saying anything, and every time I've remained in my spot unperturbed. It's wild. It's just another way to feed to my exhilaration at being myself and observing others without the threat of unnecessary human interaction and molestation.

That's my shallow correlation between Invisible Man and my life. But I like it. I am the Invisible Man.